


Control Issues

by LitGal



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe: Sentinels and Guides are Known, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 186,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LitGal/pseuds/LitGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world that knows, loves, respects, but doesn't trust its Sentinels, Jim is determined to hide his abilities. He won't submit to a guardian ad litem having custody of him in a legal system that ranks him on the same level as a child. He will not give up his control, not to anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

ONE  
***  
Jim leaned back in the airport chair, cracking his back and trying to pretend that the roar of the crowd and the smell of old food and stale smoke and heavy perfume didn't make him want to tear off his own nose. Control. It was all about control.

An officer walked by, looking suspiciously at Jim's sunglasses, and his long, unwashed hair. Control. Jim let his eyes drift aimlessly as though he really didn't care about this guy giving him a second look. No way would he have spotted Jim as a Sentinel, not here where most Sentinels would have gone insane from the sensory overload; however, he was suspicious.

Scratching at a spot on his arm when he really just wanted to rip his dirty skin off his body, he tried to ignore the slow circle as the officer returned to focus on Jim. Fuck.

Leaving his duffle bag on the floor, Jim stood and stretched, as if he were any other dirty, scruffy citizen who'd just gotten off one plane and was about to get on another. He could replace the contents of the duffle, so he slowly wandered toward the drinking fountain. Let the idiot just wander a little farther off, and Jim would duck out a door and find another way to make contact. So close. Just a little farther and he could lose himself in the wilds of Canada and no one would ever see him again. He'd reach sanctuary, and no one would ever be able to control him again.

Jim closed his eyes and let himself fantasize a world without screaming engines that ripped at his hearing and flashing lights and the sharp stink of chemicals. He longed for some place quiet. Some place where he didn't have to escape the police and lie about his senses, some place where he didn't have to fear getting caught and shoved into a legal system that would strip his control.

The officer was closer now, and Jim started considering options. A quick strike, and he could take out the guard, but how many people in the terminal would run toward him, and how many would flee? Jim looked at the children sitting in mother's laps and playing on the floor and thought about the possibility of a panic where small people might be crushed.

"You got a ticket?" the officer asked as he finally confronted Jim, standing not more than four feet away. Jim nodded without answering. He could take this guy easy. Instead he pulled out the dog-earred paper ticket.

"Why are you hassling me?" Jim asked in his best imitation of a whine. To pull off the act, he imagined the middle-aged hippy his unit had caught smuggling drugs from South America.

"You're heading to Salt Lake?" the cop asked as he looked at the ticket. Jim wasn't, but he didn't want to announce that he was a Sentinel trying to make it to the Canadian wilds. He had no intention of being on the plane to Salt Lake when it left.

"Yeah," Jim lied. "To see my sister, not that it's your business."

"What's in the bag?"

Jim again considered the feasibility of a direct attack. This was getting too serious. If his contact showed up now, he'd take one look at the officer hassling Jim and fade into the background. But if Jim attacked, someone would pick up his trail.

"Clothes. A bottle of vodka," Jim answered truthfully. The vodka was against airline rules, but it was a small violation and it matched the disguise Jim was using. Besides, when the headaches truly overpowered him, the booze could take the sharp edge off the pain.

"That's a violation of airline policy," the officer frowned, and Jim gritted his teeth at the unctuous and offended tone. He wasn't going to bribe his way out of this.

"Hey! There you are," called an unfamiliar voice. "Man, leaving your shit like that, on the floor, that is a great way to get it stolen. I got your hotdog, extra onions, like you wanted, but if you breathe on me, I am never forgiving you. Keep that killer breath to yourself, man." A young man with long curls and bright blue eyes bounced right up to Jim, giving him a bump with his shoulder, bare skin to bare skin, and JIm could only blink in shock.

"Hey, if you're hassling him, get in line behind me because I am not going another leg on this little journey before he takes a pitstop and washes off a layer of grime. Man, sitting next to him was an adventure I don't want to repeat." The kid thrust out his hand toward the officer. "Blair Sandburg."

"Officer Witthy," the man answered automatically. "Are you--"

"Witthy? Witthy-Witty, cool name man. Now that is a name I could have worked with, but Blair Sandburg? Oh man, let's not even get into 'Blair' which is a name that no boy in grade school should have to deal with, but 'Sandburg' which got turned into 'Snowburg' as in 'snowing' everyone to 'Iceburg,' which might be kinda cool if they meant that I was all cold and dangerous, but they were talking more lettuce iceburg than ice iceburg."

Jim could see the officer start to back away, intimidated by Blair's flood of words where Jim's size and dangerous looks hadn't caused him any worry. Opening his senses, Jim focused on the energetic man who had come to his rescue.

"Oh, hotdog. Man, it must be cold by now, sorry about that Big Guy," Blair said as he turned and held the food out to Jim again. This time, Jim took it, listening as Blair's heart pounded heavily through the lie.

"So, anyway, Witthy is much higher on the status ladder. It means noble innkeeper. Now Sandburg... it comes from Hamburg, and the family's big claim to fame is being in about a million little tiny wars over little tiny bits of land, and that is so not good for the karma, you know."

By now the officer was truly backpedaling, and Blair just followed him, still gesturing like a preacher who'd found an audience of the unsaved trapped in his church and ready to hear the inspired word of God, whether they wanted to or not.

"Chief," Jim called, "give the guy a break from the chatter, huh?" he asked with an exasperated sigh as though he had to put up with this all the time. The officer glanced toward Jim gratefully and then turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction. Blair Sandburg stood watching the retreating back, and Jim could hear the heart pound dangerously fast as he panted.

"Deep breaths, Sandburg," Jim counseled his rescuer as he put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Slow down your breathing or you're going to hyperventilate." Blair backed up until he just brushed against Jim's body, and then he struggled to follow Jim's advice.

"In," Jim whispered, trying not to attract too much attention. "Out."

"Oh man," Blair finally whispered as he caught his breath, his heart slowing.

"Yeah, close one," Jim agreed. "Magna send you? From asylum?" he asked, already knowing the answer. The hotdog Sandburg had shoved toward him didn't have any onions, and there was only one reason to lie about that--to convince the cop that Jim couldn't possibly be a Sentinel. Bonded Sentinels might be able to eat onions or walk through airports without their skin trying to peel off, but unbonded ones, even runners who tended to deal with the world a little better, wouldn't touch them.

"Magna?" Blair asked, confused, and Jim could hear the truth of that confusion in Blair's heartbeat.

"Then... who are you?" Jim asked, suddenly suspicious. The hand that had rested on Sandburg's shoulder now gripped it hard enough to make the man flinch.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he protested without struggling, and Jim could hear the truth of that too.

"Who are you?" Jim repeated the question.

"Blair Sandburg. I work at Rainier University. I am only trying to help you, and if you just ease up there, I promise I'm not going to run or yell for a cop or something."

Jim could see Sandburg's pain in the way his eyes tightened and his shoulders unconsciously hunched in response to Jim's harsh grip. He loosened his hand and glanced across the terminal toward the clock on the far wall. Magna's representative should have come and gotten him twenty minutes ago, and in the underground, twenty minutes late meant either they'd been arrested or they'd taken one look at Jim and something sent them running the other way. But that didn't explain Jim's new little buddy.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Chief, but let's go somewhere and have a little talk." Jim casually draped one arm over Blair's shoulder as he started eating the hotdog with the other. After two days without food, it was the best tasting thing Jim had ever eaten.

"Mind getting my bag?" Jim asked as he used his seemingly friendly arm around Blair's neck to guide him back toward the chairs.

"No problem," Blair agreed as they reached the place where Jim had sat waiting for someone to take him on the last leg of his escape plan. He bent over and grabbed the light duffle without even trying to move away from Jim's possessive grip. "I've got a car in short-term parking," Blair offered as he went where Jim guided him.

Jim used his senses to check the truth of that statement. "Anyone waiting for us out there?"

"What?" Blair demanded. "No way. Just a car and a way to get out of this airport which has to be bugging the crap out of you."

Jim tightened his hold on Blair's neck, and the kid stumbled a step before Jim loosened up. So he did know Jim was a Sentinel. Well, he wasn't having that discussion here.

"You a cop?" Jim asked.

"I'm a grad student. Rainier University. We went through this once."

"What are you doing at the airport?" Jim kept his questions soft and his expression pleasant as though they were two friends just walking out of the airport together, but inside he could feel fear cracking through the edges of his control. He turned the corner and pointed Blair toward the exit for the short-term parking. If this was a trap, at least then he'd have someone to fight.

"Right now, I'm saving the ass of this cranky dude who hasn't even given me his name before kidnapping me," Blair shot back. Jim blinked in surprise at Blair's answer.

"And what were you doing here before you decided to save the ass of the cranky dude?" Jim asked, a small smile escaping as he considered his kidnapee.

"People watching."

Jim tightened his grip.

"Hey, easy on the shoulder. Check my heart rate. I'm an anthropology student, and I'm doing this paper on proxemics and public space. I was people watching! I have a portable computer in my side pocket, and if you check, you'll see that I've been recording the distances people establish for themselves and their families as they wait for planes."

"You do this for a living?" Jim asked as he pulled Blair to a stop and looked down at the man. Blair was blushing.

"Okay, so it's not the best living in the world, but I could see an article on urban design to a magazine for $200, another to a modern anthropology magazine for $50 or maybe for a free year's subscription, and then I could get a grant for a few thousand to do a follow up study. And then, on top of that, I'll use the data in a couple of research papers at school and maybe even try to interest the airport in commissioning a larger study on how to rearrange their public spaces to maximize the available space."

Jim listened to Blair's heart, slightly elevated, but steady. He stared into Blair's blue eyes, measuring the diameter of his pupil and tracking the small movements. He breathed deeply of Blair's scent. The man was telling the truth.

"So, you're watching people, and you decide to save a rogue Sentinel and then cooperate in your own kidnapping?" Jim phrased it as bluntly as he could, looking for some reaction. Blair flinched.

"Oh man, that's not going to look good on the police report, huh?" Blair asked.

"Not really, Chief," Jim agreed. "Which is your car?"

"Black Toyota," Blair nodded toward the far side of the lot, and Jim started walking, his arm still thrown around Blair's neck. "Can I at least get a name? I mean, if the cops are going to look at me like I lost my mind, and you *so* know they are, can I at least show them that I had the brains to get that one piece of information?"

Jim pushed his lips out as he considered that. Right now, anyone looking for James Ellison would have pictures of him in his military outfit with his hair cropped short, or his jungle fatigues after being extracted from Peru. He couldn't afford to give up that advantage.

"Just call me Big Guy," Jim said as he thought about Blair's earlier nickname for him.

"Man, I'm not batting a thousand here," Blair complained softly as he dug in his pockets. He pulled out keys, and Jim held out his hand.

"Here ya go, Big Guy," Blair said as he surrendered them.

Jim approached the car carefully, searching the lines for any breaks that would suggest it had been modified. He'd heard of people getting in cars and then finding the doors locked automatically. Walking around to the passenger side, he paused with the key hovering. Standard operating procedure... put the prisoner in first. Jim considered Blair and then the lot.

A few people wandered to their cars, one man ran to the airport, his briefcase bouncing against his leg. A chain-link fence didn't really pose any barrier between the lot and the highway. If he put Blair in first, unlocking the passenger side, it might trigger some mechanism. That's how he'd rig a trap.

"Stay here." Jim gave the order and then quickly walked around the car. He was almost surprised that Blair just stood where told and waited as Jim unlocked the driver's side. He had to nearly fold his body in half to get into the seat to adjust it, and then he reached over and unlocked the door. "Get in."

Blair immediately tossed the knapsack into the back, but then he stood next to the open door, his heart speeding up.

"Man, you have an out, you have the car, so why take me along for a ride?" he asked.

"Maybe I like the company." Jim put the key in the ignition and started the vehicle. The engine whined unhappily before settling down. "You need new belts."

"Yeah, I'll tell my mechanic," Blair answered. "You need company like how a Sentinel needs company?"

"I'm not going to rape you," Jim sighed as he tightened his hands around the wheel. God, he hated this. He hated how anyone who knew his secret looked at him like a Sentinel and not like a human being.

Immediately, the car bounced as Blair got in and put his hand on Jim's arm. "Hey, Big Guy, I *never* thought you'd rape me. That is a total urban legend. A Sentinel is far more likely to get raped by someone who manipulates their senses with pheromones and steroids. Give Sentinels the right input, and they don't have the ability to say 'no.'"

"And that brings us to the next question. How do you know so much about Sentinels?" Jim asked, his hand slipping from the gearshift over to Blair's leg.

Blair sighed and pulled the passenger side door closed. "I've worked with them."

Jim tightened his fingers around Blair's knee until the man gasped and grabbed at Jim's wrist with impotent, fluttering hands.

"Hey, okay, that just hurts."

Jim let go of Blair's knee and grabbed his wrists in both hands. Blair didn't fight as Jim brought his wrists together and held them. With his other hand, he pulled his belt free of his waist. Quickly, Jim wrapped the leather around Blair's wrists and fastened the buckle before letting go.

"I so should not have gotten in the car," Blair said quietly as he let his bound hand rest on his lap, but his heart continued to beat steadily. When Jim had first grabbed him, his heart had raced, but now it settled into a steady ba-bum as Jim put the car into gear and headed for the exit.

"Here, hold this," Jim said as they approached the toll booth. He dropped his pack onto Blair's lap, hiding his bound hands. "Do I need to warn you not to call out?" he asked.

"Yeah, I saved you from the cop in there because I want you to get caught by the parking attendant out here. You've uncovered my master plan." Blair rolled his eyes and let his head fall back against the car's headrest.

"Smartass."

"Smartass and Big Guy. Sounds like a great title for a Hollywood picture," Blair answered. Then the car ahead went through. Jim pulled the parking pass out of Blair's window and pulled up to the attendant. Silently he handed over the pass.

The attendant looked at it, and then bent over and stared into the car.

"Hey, prof," he said. "You don't normally have company."

Jim froze, his hand going to his pocket where he had a roll of quarters. They'd give his punch some extra impact.

"Yeah, the big guy and I were testing responses to requests for help... perception of the counter culture, you know?" Blair answered quickly, and he shifted so that the pack half fell on Jim's hand while still hiding the fact that Blair was tied.

"You always have some weird ass-shit going on, prof. You have a nice day."

"You too, Bobby," Blair called, and then the attendant gave the parking pass back to Jim.

Taking it with a stiff smile, Jim slipped the pass back onto the dash and pulled forward into the airport traffic.

"Don't ever do that again," Jim warned as he checked over his shoulder and merged with oncoming traffic.

"What, try to keep you from hitting some poor kid who's working his way through auto mechanics school by sitting in a hot booth all day?"

"I wouldn't have hit him unless I had to. Despite what you have heard, not all Sentinels are raging lunatics."

"No one says they're raging lunatics."

"Sure. That's why in court, they're automatically labeled non compos mentis. They can't testify or control their own lives, but no one thinks they're lunatics."

"Oh man, you have serious control issues, you know this, yes?" Blair asked with exasperation. "Sentinels can go out of control, especially when they're stressed or when people do stupid shit like make them feel like they're in danger, but no one thinks they're raging lunatics."

"Whatever," Jim dismissed the argument. "So, back to my earlier question. How do you know about Sentinels."

"Do you have any idea where we're going?"

"Sentinels," Jim growled, not willing to be put off any longer.

"Hey, I'm totally okay with telling you everything. I just need to pee, so I hope you have somewhere to go, and if not, I'm offering my place because I really need a bathroom."

Jim didn't answer, he just looked over and glared at Blair.

"Fine. Sentinels. I work at Rainier, and after an article I wrote on eastern meditation techniques and how the west adopted and adapted them to fit western culture, and while I truly respect the origins of meditation, some of the adaptations really make a lot of sense given our own society is--"

"Chief," Jim warned darkly.

"Sentinels. Right. I gave a class on meditation at the university, and one of the students works at the Sentinel institute. She invited me over, and we convinced the head of the institute to let me teach Sentinels how to use meditation techniques to overcome sensory overload and prevent emotional outbursts."

"You taught the poor little Sentinels how to not throw fits. How sweet." Jim focused on the cars and not his own precarious hold over his temper and his senses and his life in general. Funny enough, he'd grown up around here. After the crash had reactivated his senses, Jim remembered as a child, his father's screaming face as he told Jim to fight it, to avoid becoming some freak. And now he was right back here in Cascade and right back to fighting his Sentinel instincts.

"Sentinels are incredible, man, incredible. They're the watchmen who are part of our culture. Gilgamesh who could see farther than any man and who fell into a trance that lasted for seven days and nights. Huangdi the Yellow Emperor was said to be able to hear silkworms in the trees and feel which soil would grow the best crops. Human civilization has depended on Sentinels."

"And yet, they have no more legal rights than a five year old."

"They work in dozens of fields. Every year, they save lives and solve crimes and help identify environmental disasters."

"All under the eyes of their owners."

"I live off the 2nd street exit if you're planning on letting me pee at my own house," Blair said suddenly. Jim saw the exit sign coming up. "And they don't have owners, they have guardians ad litem, and after the number of times Sentinels have been raped or forced to commit illegal acts or just been emotionally or mentally destroyed by those who have tried to abuse their skills, that's not a bad thing."

"You keep telling yourself that." Jim took the 2nd street exit. "North or south?"

"South to Prospect, then east. And I do tell myself that. If we lived in a society that wasn't so fucked up, our Sentinels wouldn't be in so much danger, but what would happen if some criminal mastermind had figured out your secret?" Blair demanded.

"I would kill him," Jim answered flatly, his memories providing that answer and the image of a thin faced thug holding a huge gun. The gun hadn't saved him.

"Oh man, okay, you might be able to do that, but most Sentinels are vulnerable. And the very fact that their senses sometimes cause synesthesia or make memories overlap onto current events... it just means that their perceptions can be manipulated."

"So, you're going to save us all."

"If I could, yes," Blair said quietly. Jim looked over and was shocked at the seriousness on the man's face.

"You would be happy if I drove up to the nearest police station and turned myself in."

"Yeah. It would mean I wouldn't have to worry about you. You look--" Blair hesitated, and then the pack slid to the floor as he pulled his bound hands up and let them rest against Jim's naked arm. "You look tired. You look like you're at the end of your running and you don't know where to go."

They were at a red light, and Jim let himself close his eyes for a moment. How long had it been since he allowed someone to touch him? Blair was right, the wrong person could turn Jim's senses against him, and so he had guarded against even casual contact.

A horn honked, and Jim opened his eyes to find the light green. He turned onto Prospect.

"If you think that, why did you help me at the airport?" Jim asked, his body starting to tremble with the beginnings of a collapse. He needed to get somewhere safe until he could rein his senses back in... until he could control the need to either touch or strike out.

"The guard was playing with fire, man. You looked stressed to the breaking point, and he wasn't picking up the signs."

"You thought I was going to go berserk," Jim tightened his fists on the steering wheel.

"I think that airport would have driven any other Sentinel to go berserk the minute they walked in. Man, that place was a field of sensory land mines."

"I can control it."

"Yeah, which is totally impressive. But if you did slip, you don't seem the kind to forgive yourself easily. That's my place on the right." Blair pointed to a building with a bakery on the first floor and a stair that led to upper apartments. Jim pulled in and parked the car.

"I'm not going to run... well, not unless you count running for the bathroom because the minute you unlock the front door, I'm making a mad dash for the toilet... but me walking in tied up is probably going to cause a few questions."

Jim looked at the building, and then stretched his hearing as far as it would go. Nowhere could he find anything that even whispered danger, so he reached over and unbuckled the belt, pulling it off. "Just do what you're told, and you'll get through this fine," Jim offered his kidnapping victim. Now he just needed to figure out what to do next.

TWO  
***  
"Man, move your ass before I pee my pants," Blair said as he tumbled out of the car and headed for the front door at a good clip. Jim might have worried about the kid trying to run for help, but he could smell the sour of urine already. Blair definitely needed to go to the bathroom.

Taking the keys and his bag, Jim followed Blair into the building and up the stairs where Blair stood outside apartment 307 bouncing from one leg to the other.

"Here, here, here," Blair pleaded as he held his hand out for the keys. Jim handed them over, and Blair immediately shoved a silver one into the lock and swung the door open. True to his word, he then ran for the bathroom, leaving the keys dangling from the door.

Jim pulled them out and swung the door closed. He liked the space. The walls were covered with masks and spears and blankets woven with reds and yellows and browns. A huge primitive painting hung above the television, surreal black dancers dressed in swirls of yellow and orange. Above, the bedroom was a loft, and clothes were tossed over the railing.

Jim walked to the table and shifted some of the books and papers. "Cultural Anthropology: the Human Challenge," "Research Methods in Anthropology: Qualitative and Quantitative Approaches, Fourth Edition," "The Anthropology of Turquoise: Reflections on Desert, Sea, Stone, and Sky." Dialing up his sense of smell, everything confirmed that Blair lived here, alone, and had for quite some time.

The water ran in the bathroom for a second, and then Blair walked back out.

"I don't mind telling you, Big Guy, I was just about to seriously embarrass myself and offend that nose of yours."

"I didn't realize you needed to go so badly."

"No harm, no foul. From the way you wolfed that hotdog, can I assume you're hungry? I have some buffalo meat here."

"Buffalo?"

"Hey, it's better than beef, and way lower in cholesterol."

"At this point, I'd eat anything that didn't threaten to eat me first," Jim admitted as he dropped his pack by the door.

"How long's it been since you ate?" Blair asked quietly.

"Not that long, and I'd rather miss a few meals than give up my freedom," Jim quickly answered. For a second, Blair hesitated as though he were going to argue the point, but then he turned to the old refrigerator and pulled out the meat along with more food than Jim had seen in a week.

"Are you staying long or just using this as a pitstop?" Blair asked as he started chopping. Jim watched carefully, expecting the kid to try to slip in some hot pepper or pills or something, but he just fixed a mixed vegetable, dropping bits into water to boil. Jim thought about his answer.

"I don't know," he admitted. Sitting down on a kitchen stool, Jim finally allowed himself to feel the fatigue that pulled on him. He'd been running for nearly a year, and his resources were running thin, both in terms of money and strength. Magna was his last step, and getting to her had taken his last dollar... or nearly. He had about ten dollars in his pocket.

"Let's get you fed and then maybe things will look clearer," Blair offered. "If you're going to stay here overnight, I need to know what we're doing tomorrow. I teach a 9 am class, and if I want someone to substitute for me or even put up a sign saying I'm out sick, I need to call around tonight.

"Sure, I sleep and you call the cops," Jim snorted.

"No, you sleep before you do lose that control you're so proud of, and I will lay on the bed next to you where you can keep an eye on me or you can tie me up so you feel safe, whatever," Blair offered.

"What is your deal?" Jim demanded. He stood up and walked around the counter, getting right into Blair's space and grabbing the hand with the knife. He twisted the wrist out and away with one hand and caught the back of Blair's neck with the other. "You're awfully calm for a kidnapping victim," Jim said as he pulled Blair close and smelled deeply. He couldn't even find a trace of fear as Blair stood limp in his grip.

"You're a Sentinel. You don't hurt people without a reason, without feeling like you're in danger, or the tribe's in danger."

"You're an idiot, Sandburg," Jim snarled as he leaned closer. Blair's heartbeat sped up a little. "You're so busy thinking about me as a Sentinel that you aren't looking at the man. Look who you've invited into your home, Chief." Jim stepped back without letting go of Blair's knife hand, and he knew what Blair was seeing.

Jim had stringy hair that hung to his shoulders, making his receding hairline even more pronounced. He hadn't bathed in a week, mostly because people expected Sentinels to be fastidious, and the sour stench of his own body choked him. An earring dangled from one ear, and his clothing was worn and tight. He looked like a thug.

But Blair stood in Jim's grip calmly considering him. "I see a man who is tired beyond reason, and yet he's still going. I see someone who looked around that airport at the families, and then intentionally decided to not use his best chance at escape. I see a man who hasn't done anything to hurt me even though he's scared. I do see the man, Big Guy," Blair answered softly.

Jim dropped his hand and retreated to the far side of the counter. "You aren't looking hard enough. You don't see the killer. You don't see the soldier who snapped a guard's neck to escape the base."

"I know you're capable of doing that. I also know that it wasn't your fault."

"Because Sentinels are non compos mentis, not responsible enough or sane enough to hold them accountable for their own actions?" Jim turned his back and raged into the living room, looking out the wide windows into the blue sky. "I fucking killed a man, but no one will even question me about that because I'm a Sentinel. He must have done something to trigger my instincts. I can't be expect to control myself."

Drowning, drowning in words. Jim hadn't used so many in the last year, but now they bubbled out, and he couldn't stop them. "I fucking killed him. I made that choice, not my senses, and not my fucking instincts."

"Because you were afraid," Blair said quietly. He put the knife away and moved away from the kitchen, toward Jim. He held his hands out, and now Jim understood. Blair felt safe because he was going out of his way to make sure he was harmless. He was appealing to Jim's Sentinel instincts, and that frustrated Jim even more.

"You're putting a lot of trust in my instincts," Jim warned as anger wormed its way up through the layers of defensiveness he had built around himself.

"I am. I'm also putting a lot of trust in the man who looked at those children in the airport and risked getting captured rather than endanger them. I'm a student of human nature, and I trust you."

"You shouldn't," Jim whispered as he turned to the windows and slapped the brick column. "I killed. Oh, I've killed plenty of people--that's what my government trained me to do, but the guard when I escaped... he didn't deserve..."

"And he shouldn't have put you in a position where you felt you had to do it. If he lost control of the situation, he should have just submitted before you felt threatened."

"Excuses," Jim growled. "I deserve to be arrested for what I did. His family deserves the right to stand in front of a judge and ask him to throw the book at me because I took away their son, their brother. I deserve that punishment. But I would rather be facing a murder charge than a future where I'm never again seen as a man."

"Oh, Jim," Blair breathed. Jim was so caught in his own released guilt and anger that the word didn't sink into his awareness right away. He stared out onto the city, wrapped in his frustration as the reality slowly sank into him.

He turned. "What did you call me?"

Immediately, Blair's heart started pounding faster and his face flushed. Jim took an aggressive step forward. "What the fuck did you call me?"

"Jim. I called you Jim," Blair said softly, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. Jim felt the sides of the trap.

"You son of a bitch," he stepped forward and grabbed Blair's raised hand, yanking him out of the chair and dropping him stomach down on the couch. Blair grunted as he landed, but he didn't fight as Jim wrenched his hands behind his back. For the second time, Jim started winding the leather belt around Blair's wrists.

"Man, that is going to hurt. The coffee table. You'll find stuff," Blair said, his words muffled by the couch cushion. Jim ignored him and tightened the belt even more, buckling it so tightly that the skin around the leather turned white.

Once that was done, Jim pulled on the top of the chest that Blair used as a coffee table. It didn't move.

"The key is under it," Blair said as he turned his head toward Jim. Despite the tightness of the belt, he didn't complain as Jim retrieved the key and unlocked the chest. Sentinel restraints. Soft, leather padded restraints with hardened steel shackles and chains.

"You son of a bitch." Jim picked up a wrist restraint and looked at it. Blair intended to use this on him.

"You have back up," Jim said with confidence.

"They should have been here by now."

"Escape routes," Jim asked, not sure that he could catch Blair in any lie, but he needed information.

"We have your picture. We arrested a woman named Maggie Little three days ago. That's where we got your contact information, so she's your Magna, and she's sitting in jail after being denied bail. You've stayed under the radar because you look so different and do things that require so much control, but now that we know you have that control, you'll never make it across the border."

Jim tightened his hold on the shackle as fear crawled up into his belly.

"Jim, listen to me. You're tired. You've been running too long. You're starting to lose control, that's why I stepped in at the airport. Come on, man. You're tearing yourself up about one guard who rushed you when you were wild with panic. If you had taken a swing at that officer, if you had caused a riot in the terminal and some kid had gotten killed, would you be able to live with yourself?"

"Shit."

Jim turned and looked back out the window at a freedom he could feel slipping away.

"If you'd just let me get to the wilds, get up to Canada."

"And become prey? The Mounties do their best, but you guys scatter into the mountains, and they can't protect you. Lowlifes from a dozen countries sneak into Canada to hunt for and capture desperate Sentinels. You'd either be grabbed and manipulated into working for someone who wouldn't care about the fact that you don't want to hurt people, or you'd starve to death."

"Starving to death would be better," Jim announced as the adrenaline drained from him, making his legs shake so badly that he had to sit. He ended up on the floor.

"No, it wouldn't. You're a decorated hero. Working with the military or the civilian police or maybe a search and rescue team, you could have a life again."

"A life owned by someone, a life I have no control over." Jim shuddered as he considered that he might not have a choice, not unless Blair had a lot of drugs in the place. He'd considered that choice early on, and he reconsidered it now.

"A life with a guardian who would keep others from manipulating you," Blair disagreed. "And you would have the right to report any abuse, to request a new guardian, or to have a judge review any decision a guardian made. It isn't slavery, Jim."

"It's close enough."

Blair didn't answer for a long time. "My hands are really hurting, Big Guy. The shackle keys are in the trunk, and I don't have any spares lying around, so it'd be safe to use them on me."

Jim scrubbed his face with the heel of one hand. Shit. They had his picture. They'd cut off his escape route, and he didn't have the money to buy another. And Sandburg was right, he couldn't forgive himself if he got someone killed. Fuck. Jim considered and dismissed a dozen plans. If he had money, if he could count on his father to help, if Magna hadn't been arrested, if they didn't now have a better profile of him. If if if if.

Jim closed his eyes and dismissed plan after plan, each more dangerous than the last until he could only see one choice... the worst choice. Standing heavily, Jim pulled the belt off Blair's wrists. Blair just lay there, his hands behind his back as he waited.

"Was any of it true?" Jim asked quietly.

"Every word, man. You can't lie to a Sentinel. I do work at the University. I was doing a study on people. I did get into Sentinels through the meditation class. However, one of the Institute instructors convinced me to work as a consultant trying to help bring Sentinels in. From there, I got a part time offer from Cascade PD. I'm a detective in the Sentinel division working at both bringing Sentinels in and retrieving Sentinels in abuse or trafficking cases." Blair still didn't move as he lay on the couch with his hands clasped behind his back.

Okay, Jim remembered his training... consider it a capture situation and make the captor sympathize, and despite the fact that Blair still lay on the couch submissively, Jim knew he'd lost the power here. The cops had caught him. Soon enough, he'd be chained, and it was time for a new plan. "I hate being dirty," Jim said quietly as he looked down at the cop.

"Yeah, if I hadn't seen a picture of you, and if I hadn't watched you for so long in the terminal, I never would have spotted you as a Sentinel, and I'm a professional."

"I almost made it."

"Yeah. You have a lot of control, man. Seriously bad-ass control."

"There's no way out of this." Jim didn't mean it as a question. With ten dollars, no contacts, and slipping control, he knew when he had reached the end.

"No, there isn't. But that's not the end of the world." Blair's heart beat steadily, pounding out the truth of that statement, at least the truth in his mind.

"Do I have time to take a shower?" Jim cringed at having to ask permission, but that would be his life now. He would have to ask permission for everything. Blair smiled up at him and let his hands slide down to the couch.

"Hand me the phone, and I can get you the time," Blair offered, slowly moving to sit up. "You're doing it, coming in on your own?"

Jim took an unsteady breath; he wanted to scream no. He wanted to tell Sandburg exactly what he thought of his pathetic attempts to 'help.' Instead Jim walked to where a cordless phone sat on the counter. Picking it up, he tossed it across the room before walking to his pack. He had a plastic bag with one outfit in it. He'd planned to change into it when he reached Canada. Instead, he pulled it out now.

Blair dialed, and Jim could identify each number by tone.

"Hey, Rick. Nice job on backup," Blair complained into the phone. "Good to know you have my back."

"Yeah, well you're the one who got in the car with the Sentinel. There was an injury accident on the freeway, and we had to stop. You at the loft?"

"Yeah, it's all cool."

"So, want us to put out the picture before he gets too far?"

"No, he's still here," Blair said. "He's tired. He's ready to come in, but he just needs some time to get cleaned up and changed."

"Blair." The voice at the other end sounded exasperated, and Jim was glad that he wasn't the only one frustrated by Blair.

"Hey, it's okay. He's just getting ready to take a shower, and then we're going to eat something before we come in."

"Let me call the SI."

"No. Look, he's cooperative, and we don't need more people trooping in here."

"You mean, you actually remember that he's dangerous? That's new."

"Rick," Blair warned. Jim gathered the last of his toiletries and headed for the bathroom. Even there, with the hot water running, Jim could hear both sides of the phone conversation. Part of Jim demanded that he run, even if he didn't have anywhere left to run to. Another part just wanted to sink down to the floor and make them carry him to some institute. However, he couldn't very well argue that he had a right to control if he didn't exercise it. If this was the end, he'd face it with a little dignity, not get carried out, stinking and looking like some bum.

"Blair, can he hear us right now?"

"Probably."

"Turn on the white noise gen."

"No."

"Blair." Oh, this Rick sounded furious. Give 'em hell, kid, Jim thought as he stripped off his clothes which were stiff with dirt and sweat. He must have been a joy to sit next to on the plane, but at least his own smell had helped block some of the nauseatingly strong scents from the jet fuel and the perfumes.

"He's under control, and I'm not going to do something that makes him wonder what we're talking about."

"Blair, this isn't the case to lose perspective on."

Jim stepped under the shower.

"He and I talked about Richardson." Richardson? Who the hell was Richardson? The guard he'd killed, Jim realized. Guilt swirled with the rising steam of the shower.

"You talked to him?"

"Yes, we talked. He thinks he should be charged with murder. He thinks he should be going to prison instead of to an SI."

"But despite that, he killed the guy."

"Yeah, he did. But when I blew my own fucking cover, he didn't hurt me at all. We talked about options and the fact we have his picture and his only contact. I told him the truth and yet, instead of striking out, he just asked to take a shower. He asked for enough time that he didn't have to go to SI stinking and hungry."

"Damn it, Blair, tell me you didn't promise him more time."

"Just wait for me to call you back."

"Fuck. Sandburg, you are a walking disaster. Have you *ever* met a rule you didn't consider it a personal challenge to break?"

"It's what makes me so good, and you know it," Blair countered. "Watch the outside if you want. Put a Sentinel out there. Hell, use heat tracking scans if you want because we're not going anywhere, but you need to give him some time to adapt."

"Blair, you know SOP."

"I'm not slipping him some drug just because that's *your* standard operating procedure. I don't believe in slipping them drugs."

"Well, you can't do it now that you've talked about it around Sentinel hearing. No way would you get the Rypno in him now."

"I wouldn't slip it to him anyway."

"It would be easier on him, to not have to deal with the transition."

"No, it'd be easier on us, but he's earned the right to make his own choice on this one. I'll offer him the pill. After all, he's coming in voluntarily."

"After how many months and how many states? He wouldn't be coming in if he wasn't trapped, so I'm not willing to say that Ellison is coming in on his own."

"It's my report, and I am. He's covert ops. If he truly wanted out of this, he could kidnap me and get away."

"Don't give him any ideas."

"He won't do it," Blair said confidently. In the shower, Jim listened to his life dissected, and couldn't come up with the energy to care. "He's running out of that legendary control of his, and he won't risk other people getting hurt."

"You're putting a lot of faith into this one."

"Yeah, I am, but I haven't ever been wrong before."

"The problem, kid, is that on the day you are wrong, we aren't going to know it until your head is cracked open like an egg. So, how long are you planning on playing house up there?"

"He's showering now. My guess is that he wants to shave and cut his hair, and then I've started dinner. Oh SHIT."

"Blair? Blair?" Rick called over the phone. Jim shut off the shower as he listened to Blair's heart race. "Fuck, I turned the vegetables to fucking mush. Shit. Since I have to start dinner over, it may be a while."

"Sandburg." Rick sounded livid. "If you ever scare me like that again, I will personally haul your ass out to the obstacle course and make you run it until your hair falls out from exhaustion."

"Right. No problem," Blair answered absentmindedly. Jim could hear pans clicking and hot water being drained into the sink with a hiss.

"Oh for god... Blair, be careful."

"Always. Remember, I'll call when we're ready," Blair answered blithely as he clicked the phone off. Jim grabbed a towel and scrubbed himself, still feeling phantom dirt clinging to him after so many weeks.

Opening the medicine cabinet, Jim found scissors sitting on the shelf next to a nearly full bottle of migraine medicine. As the fog from the hot water made his figure almost ghostly in the mirror, Jim stood with the bottle in his hand fighting through a thousand feelings. This was it. The end. Jim just wasn't sure the end of what.

THREE  
***  
"Whoa, you clean up nice," Blair said as Jim walked out of the bathroom self-consciously rubbing his military-short hair. "You look like that picture from that news magazine."

"I was exhausted and shell-shocked when they took that picture," Jim pointed out dryly. It was strange, thinking that Blair had studied him, read all those old files, and yet he had stood under Jim's hands without flinching.

"I hate to tell you, but you're pretty exhausted and shell-shocked now." Blair dumped the vegetables into a strainer as the meat browned in the pan.

"You've won, Sandburg. All I want is a last meal for the condemned man."

"Jim."

"I mean it," Jim warned. Even with his plan in mind, his body struggled against the idea of surrender, even a temporary one.

"Okay, no problem. I just think you need some food and some sleep and things won't look as bad."

"Is this your idea of dropping it?" Jim asked as he sank into the chair at the table. All the anthropology books and papers had been dumped on one chair, and place mats set out. Blair came over with two plates, rolls and vegetables already on them.

"Yep. Rick tells me that I am constitutionally incapable of dropping anything."

"Rick's right," Jim answered as he took a bite of the roll.

"So, what do you want on your burger?" Blair asked from the kitchen.

"The works," Jim answered. "Except onions," he amended that after a minute. The room wavered, colors flashing neon for a second before they calmed back down into more normal colors.

"Man, you are not getting the onions or the jalapenos, not even if you ask for them." Blair came in with two burgers, and put one on Jim's plate. "Something wrong with the food?"

"What?" Jim noticed he'd stopped eating. He took another bite of his roll and used his fork to stab some vegetables. "It's fine."

"Okay. Right." Blair didn't sound convinced. He dropped the second burger on his own plate and then went over to his stereo, hitting the button. Jim could hear the wild pops and hisses as the electronics started up, and then soft Jazz filled the room.  
Jim closed his eyes as the music first soothed him, and then it started slurring. First the low end disappeared leaving only the high notes screeching. The bass came back sounding like the music was underwater, warbling and wavering.

"It doesn't sound right, does it?" Blair asked quietly as he came back to the table and sat down next to Jim.

"It's fine. I just don't like Jazz," Jim lied. Blair snorted.

"Oh man, you are just something. It's called a sensory storm, by the way."

Jim sighed as he put down his fork. "It's called a pain in the ass," he said. "It's happened before. It'll pass."

"You should not have to go through this without help. You need constant input... a stable environment with no big variations in temperature, light or sound. Sometimes the trafficked Sentinels we find suffer from sensory storm, a dozen little spikes that don't last long, but they really screw with your head."

"My head is fine, Sandburg," Jim said as he took a bite of burger, the mouthful turning from mush to grit and then finally to meat as he chewed. The worst part was that Jim knew Blair had a small kernel of truth in there. Jim didn't need a guardian, he didn't need someone to tell him what to do and where to work and how to live, but he did need someone to stand between him and the world. He needed Incacha. But that door was closed, and Jim wasn't about to open that old wound.

"I could show you a meditation technique," Blair suggested gently.

"Is this how you bring in runners? Talk them into submission?" Jim demanded sarcastically as he dropped his fork. Blair raised his palms.

"Fine. Dropping it." He took a big mouthful of burger, and for the first time, Jim got some actual silence. He used it to focus on eating. Even if he felt like curling up in the corner until this sensory storm passed, he needed food for strength. Eat, make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape. Jim just wished this plan didn't include him having to go through Sentinel training. He glanced over toward the shackles still sitting on the coffee table.

"If you take the Rypno, you won't have to remember the transfer," Blair whispered. Jim glared.

"You aren't good for digestion."

"Your fears aren't good for digestion, and I've always thought that truth is a great killer of fears."

"Free choice is a great killer of fear," Jim argued, "but as a Sentinel, I won't get much of that."

"Once you go through training, you'll get the portfolios of anyone applying to be your guardian ad litem."

"And while I can tell the judge that I might prefer one or the other, the judge has the final say on who he thinks would do the best job of taking care of me," Jim finished. "I know the routine, Sandburg."

"Man, it's not that different from the military, and you've been in the service most of your life."

"I had a choice, Sandburg. I could leave the service. If they gave me an order that I couldn't in good conscience follow, I could refuse."

"And guardians don't have absolute power either. You can always appeal a decision, and case workers check up on you."

"Yeah, I appeal, and a judge decides whether or not I have to follow the order. It's not the same, Sandburg. A man is defined by his code, his ethics, but now I'm told that I don't have even the most basic right. I have only the right to ask someone else for help. That's not how men live."

"Jim."

"I was a captain. I commanded men in the field and made snap judgments that affected thousands of lives. I held the Chopec pass for eighteen months. I didn't do that because someone ordered me to, but because I thought it was the right thing. After my men died in that wreck, I led the Chopec, trained them in how to deal with modern weapons. I made decisions that risked my life and others'."

"Not as a Sentinel," Blair interrupted gently.

"Yes!" Jim exploded up from his chair, slapping his hands on the table. "Yes, as a Sentinel. The Chopec knew what I was immediately. They never even questioned my judgment. They followed me into battle, trusting me to use my senses to keep them safe. They trusted me." Jim trembled as struggled against the rage that lay just below his control. He couldn't afford it now. He couldn't afford anger when he had a job to do. He had to survive and escape.

"But zoning... spiking." Blair sounded confused now. "Sentinels always have guardians."

Jim closed his eyes against the fear that wrapped around him, setting into his bones. "Companions," he said gently. "Sentinels have companions who watch their backs. They have friends who will give them an anchor when the senses get to be too much. They don't have guards."

"You had a Chopec companion?"

Jim walked to the window and stared out. Letting his hearing stretch, he could identify the police radios and the sound of people surrounding the building. And now the trap had truly closed. Somewhere down there, a police Sentinel was listening to him, reporting everything he said to his handler.

"I worked with the medicine man. The chief led the tribe with Incacha's help most of the time, but when the men went to battle, I led them with Incacha's help. He would anchor me, have the men defend our position when I zoned, make sure that I didn't stretch too far. But in the end, he left me to make the choices that sent warriors to their deaths. And I lost some. I remember the name of every warrior I lost. But we took out a lot more of them. We shut down the Chopec pass and forced the drug dealers out of the area."

"As a full Sentinel?" Blair had stood at some point, and now he stood in the middle of the living room.

"Yes, as a full Sentinel. When the helicopter came to take me out, I wanted to hold on to Incacha. I wanted to either drive the soldiers away and stay there, or I wanted to drag him into this world with me."

"You bonded." Blair hoarsely whispered the words, his heart racing.

"Yes," Jim admitted, unable to even admit it to himself before now. He could feel the hole where Incacha had been ripped from his soul.

"Oh, Jim. Jim, you can't blame yourself for Richardson, not when you were suffering from a broken bond and desperate to find your guardian."

"My companion," Jim corrected him. "Incacha was my companion, but he told me that our time was limited. He said that another waited for me, and that when my people came, I had to leave his land."

"He rejected you." Blair breathed the words, shock clearly rolling through him. Jim glanced over and could see Blair turn pale.

"He made a choice. I'm not some fragile flower that is going to be crushed if you don't handle it carefully enough," Jim snorted as he focused back out the window. Below, he could hear the other Sentinel repeating his words. Someone called for a background check and medical records from when Jim had first been taken into custody. Jim knew they'd find what they wanted: physical evidence of a Sentinel suffering through a broken bond.

"You're strong," Blair said carefully. "But Sentinels..."

"Chief, cut out this Sentinel shit, and look at Captain Jim Ellison, Seventh Troop, Army Rangers. I survived just fine. And despite what you think, I'm not about to fall to pieces over losing my first companion."

"Jim, I...."

"Come on, Chief, you're the anthropology major, you're the one who's a great observer of human nature. Look at me. Think about how I was in the airport."

"Totally impressive. I'm not saying you weren't because you were so totally impressive, but you were still losing control."

"I was keeping control," Jim corrected him. "And I am keeping control, even though I can hear them out there. I'm keeping control. When they come in here and put chains on me, I will keep control."

"But a Sentinel needs..."

"A Sentinel needs a companion, someone who will anchor me when I spike or zone because those aren't controllable. If I use my senses, I risk that, and I need someone to be there to help me through that," Jim admitted softly, "but I'm not a child who needs someone to make decisions for me."

Blair didn't answer, and Jim turned and looked at him. Blair stood in the middle of the living room, and Jim could see that some little part of Blair had heard him, had processed the information. It was too late to help Jim, but maybe the man would think twice before capturing his next Sentinel.

The phone rang.

Jim and Blair continued to look at each other for several seconds before Blair shook, as though struggling to break some spell, and he grabbed the phone from the couch.

"Hello?"

"Blair, things are getting out of control. We're coming up."

"No," Blair immediately answered. "He's having a sensory storm. We just need to wait until it clears because it's not fair to drag him out into the sunlight with his senses going wild.

Jim turned back to the window, able to hear Blair's boss, Rick, both through the phone and downstairs on the first floor. It made an odd echo in his head.

"I don't like the way this conversation is going."

"Then we'll stop having the conversation. I tried to get Sandburg to shut up before, but I wasn't all that successful," Jim said in a slightly louder than normal tone as he walked back to the table and picked up the burger. His stomach churned, but he took a bite, ordering his body to relax and follow through on the plan. He could hear the other Sentinel repeat his words to Rick.

Rick laughed. "He has your number, Sandburg."

"He also has senses that are making it hard for him to even eat when he hasn't had food for days. He needs some time."

"Blair."

"Use the shackles," Jim said quietly after swallowing around the fear lodged in his throat. They would shackle him anyway, but maybe he could buy a few more minutes here before having to face some Sentinel Institute.

"Jim." Blair breathed the word.

"Blair, don't try it, we're coming up now. Even the most stable sometimes loses control when you try to shackle them."

Jim closed his eyes, nauseous as he realized his offer had backfired. Now they would come in here and drag him out. God, he wasn't ready to face that yet.

"Jim," Blair said softly. He opened his eyes and found Blair there with the shackles. Prickles of fear swept over him, but he held out his hands and Blair locked the padded restraints around his wrists quickly.

"He's shackled, and you don't need to come up," Blair said into the phone. Jim looked down at his chained hands and struggled to deal with reality. He was a prisoner, a prisoner of war even if no one else in the universe saw it that way. And as a prisoner of war, he had a duty to escape, but he wouldn't succeed if he lost control now.

"Blair Sandburg, consider yourself on report!" Footsteps still charged up the stairs, and Jim let his hands slide down into his lap. He could do this.

"And you charging up here yelling is not standard protocol either, Yaden. Just calm down because he was fine with the shackles, but you yelling is about ready to send him into a zone."

Jim smiled grimly. So the kid thought he was fine with the shackles. He wasn't the student of human nature he thought he was. A warm hand rested on his shoulder, and Jim fought with the urge to brush it away and the urge to press himself to that warmth. He recognized that feeling: the Sentinel's demand for a connection.

He stood. He couldn't let himself get attached, not now. Leaving Sandburg behind, Jim walked to the door and opened it. Like he expected, men stood outside, one with a tranq gun pointed at him. Jim raised his shackled hands, showing that he didn't intend to fight. A tall man, slender with a pock-scarred face stepped forward.

"James Ellison, I'm charged with taking you into custody pending a determination of your status in court."

Since he'd run out of words, Jim nodded and held still when another officer stepped forward and attached two lengths of chain to his shackles. An officer would walk on either side of him, holding the leashes. It would make running nearly impossible.

"If you have a guardian ad litem or a person you wish to act as guardian ad litem, you have the legal right to notify them of your location. Do you wish to contact anyone?"

"No."

Another officer appeared with thicker shackles, and Jim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the woman carefully bent down to lock them around his ankles. The two officers who controlled the leashes to his shackles watched him carefully.

"If you have family members you wish to notify of your situation, you have the legal right to notify them. Do you wish to contact anyone?"

"No."

A neighbor opened a door and peeked out through the slit as the female officer now searched Jim for any weapons. He hadn't bothered trying to hide one.

"If you have a job or legal obligations that would require you to appear in person, you have the legal right to contract your employer, lawyer, or any representative thereof. Do you wish to contact anyone?"

"No."

The neighbor slammed the door.

"If you have legal actions pending against you, the outcome of your Sentinel status may impact that action. Is there any court or legal representative we need to contact in your behalf?"

"No."

Jim stood motionless as Rick read him.... well, they weren't actually his rights, they were more like the rest of the world's right to not be inconvenienced or worried by his sudden disappearance. He certainly didn't have the right to challenge the legality of the entire mess.

"Jim."

Jim turned and looked at Blair whose certainty had somehow evaporated in the last few minutes.

"It's okay, kid," Jim shrugged, the motion tugging on one of the tight leashes held by the officers.

"Are you ready to go?" Rick asked, pulling Jim's attentions back to the other officers. He stared coldly at Blair's boss. Eventually, Rick nodded at Jim's stubborn silence.

"Okay, let's get home, folks," Rick called. The officers quickly arranged themselves. One of the leash holders went in front of Jim, the other behind. The man with the tranq gun took position behind the rear leash-holder. Rick headed for the stairs, the woman officer with him. Three more officers walked behind tranq guy. In the middle, Jim walked with heavy steps.

The whole group moved slowly on the stairs, and the rear leash-holder put a steadying hand on Jim's arm as he slowly walked the stairs. If he were going to make a move, their very caution with him made them good targets, but Jim didn't like his odds of being able to get the keys, free himself, and escape before they tranqed him. Better to stick with the plan.

At the bottom, Rick stopped. "If your sensory storm is still going on, the Rypno is your best bet to avoid some serious pain."

"I'm fine," Jim said, his eyes focused on the open door and not the crowd of officers all focused on controlling him. A familiar scent drifted past him, and he turned to see Blair standing near the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the railing and looking like a lost child. No wonder the kid had fooled him; he didn't look much like a cop with those wide, worried eyes.

The officer in front pulled on Jim's chained hands, and he turned back toward the door, walking where they directed him. The sunlight made him flinch back, and everyone paused as Jim blinked away the sparkles and flares that almost blinded him.

"Man, he's having a sensory storm. This is so not cool."

"If you'd given him Rypno, he'd be comfortably out cold."

"I'm fine," Jim growled, cutting off the argument, and both men fell silent as the guards started moving again, Jim let the pressure on his cuffs lead him out into the sunshine. A large blue van with "CPD: Sentinel Division" painted in white waited by the curb, and Jim walked straight toward his greatest fear, using his control to restrain his overwhelming need to snap the necks of everyone between him and the Canadian border. He'd come so very close to freedom, but sometimes life just didn't work out that way he wanted, no matter how much control he had.

FOUR  
***  
"I'm Sam Nunez," a man said. Jim could smell him over the scent of the flowers growing under a sunlamp against the back wall and the warm dirt and the cold concrete of the walls.

"Good for you," he answered as he lay on his bunk facing the light brown wall. The intake examination last night had frayed his ability to control his anger, and right now all he wanted was to close his eyes again and block out this world. He could still smell the sweet Sentinel-approved soap clinging to his skin. He'd showered in front of a lot of people in the service, and he'd long ago gotten over any need for privacy, but having three handlers stand at the edge of the room watch him had made him grit his teeth.

"What would you like me to call you?"

"Right now, I couldn't give a rat's ass what you call me," Jim snapped, "and any attempt to try and make me feel like I have some control when I clearly don't is going to be wasted on me."

"Okay, Mr. Ellison, I can imagine that you're fairly frustrated right now."

"You think?" Jim knew he shouldn't be doing this. He should be trying to convince them that he was going to be a good little boy. He should be smiling at their shit and spreading his legs farther for the Sentinel doctor who ran hands over his body looking for any rashes or irritated areas, warm oiled hands running down his legs and over his back and between his fingers and toes. He should convince them that he was ready to get his guardian ad litem and let them toss him back out into society.

"I would like to go over a few things this morning; it might make you a little more comfortable to know what's going on. I imagine given your background, that the lack of information is frustrating."

Jim sighed and turned over, sitting up on his bunk as he looked at the man standing just inside Jim's cell.

"Information is a tool when trying to decide what action to take. I don't have any illusions about having a choice here. You'll tell me what I need to do when I need to do it."

"A rather pessimistic outlook. May I sit down?" Sam Nunez gestured to two chairs sitting on either side of a small, round table.

"Knock yourself out."

"I agree that you have far fewer choices than you are used to. Your time as a non-Sentinel will make that difficult, but you do have some choices here, and you need to decide how to approach things."

Jim rubbed his face with a hand. "Think of it like being in the military?" Jim asked, remembering Blair's analogy.

"I'm not sure that's entirely accurate, but it's pretty close. I'd like to get you into classes as soon as possible. It's not healthy for anyone to sit in a locked room for too long."

Jim sat and waited for the man to continue. Nunez sighed.

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you?"

"Making your life difficult is one of my few remaining pleasures."

Nunez sighed again, and Jim gave him a not-so-nice smile.

"Let's start with some basics. Would you prefer a stereo or a television?"

"Not something I really care about."

"I'll put down television just so we can get something in here. If you disagree, feel free to say something. You've already found the refrigerator, and you can have any whole fruits or vegetables in here for snacking. Any preferences?"

"Wouldn't mind some Wonderburger," Jim answered obstinately. Nunez's pen hesitated over the form.

"I think we can skip the classes on control, but do you need to take the classes on recognizing the signs of zones or spikes?" he asked, completely ignoring Jim's non-answer.

"If I didn't know what they felt like, I never would have made it this far." Jim stood up and walked to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water that didn't have even a hint of chemical sting to it. The accommodations sucked, but the water was damn good.

"Meditation? Dealing with stress? We have a nice class on organic farming, which can be quite soothing on the senses."

Jim turned and looked at Nunez with unmitigated horror. "Gardening?" he demanded. "I've gone from being able to handle the stress of leading units into battle to being given classes in gardening. My life just keeps getting better."

"Maybe we should skip that class," Nunez offered as he wrote something on his clipboard.

"Maybe we should," Jim agreed.

"Okay, let's start with the required legal class. You need to know your legal rights and how to exercise them."

"I have the right to complain if I think my owner isn't being nice, that's about it," Jim answered. He tightened his hold on water glass and ordered himself to stop being so antagonistic. He wasn't helping his case, but Nunez's calm acceptance of every sarcastic remark made it just so damn easy to complain.

"The very fact that you think that suggests you need the course. A new one starts in six days. I'll sign you up."

"So you're my guidance counselor?" Jim asked, then he forced himself to stop complaining by drinking water. It drowned the angry words that wanted to come out of his mouth.

"In a way. I'm assigned to help you transition and to make sure you don't get lost in the system. We have a lot of vocational classes, and I really would like to get you into some of them. With your background, I think you'd enjoy police or rescue work, and we have excellent programs here. Police work in particular requires a lot of control since criminals have a variety of ways to try to throw Sentinels off track."

Jim thought about the similarity between police Sentinels and police dogs, but at least this time he had the good sense not to say it. Nunez waited, clearly expecting a smart-ass remark, and Jim congratulated himself on keeping the man off balance.

"Certainly the classes on avoiding anti-Sentinel maneuvers would apply to most law-enforcement situations. We've also had a request from the Rangers to assign you to military service, but, as you'll learn in your legal rights class, judges have very strict guidelines before assigning Sentinels to military service, including an ethical requirement to make sure that you want to go into military service, and that you have made that decision knowing what military service entails."

"I was military for 15 years, I know what military service entails," Jim pointed out dryly. He thought of Richardson's face, the shock when Jim's hands had closed around his neck, the man's futile punches to Jim's kidneys. Jim had pissed blood for a day or two, but it hadn't slowed him down as he cracked the man's neck. "I don't want to go back into the service."

"Fair enough. I just thought I'd let you know they requested you. An old commander of yours, Colonel Laraby, sent a letter the moment he heard you had surrendered."

"No."

Jim put the water glass down and went back to his bunk. It was the only place to sit other than at the table with Nunez, and he wasn't ready to do that yet, not when the most humiliating part of this whole ordeal was still coming.

"There's a class starting today on search and seizure procedure. It's run by a Sentinel and guardian pair out of the CPD with one of the highest arrest rates in the city. And while it focuses on narcotics, the basic search techniques could be applied to any number of situations. Or, if you want to get out of law enforcement altogether, there's a class on structural stability that's the first of nine courses designed to help you use enhanced hearing to check the structural stability of a building or other structure. The last course is off-site, visiting a number of different structures for field studies."

"I'll do the narcotics class," Jim said. He had a plan to get on with, and that meant convincing these morons that he would play by their rules. Sulking in his room wouldn't get him where he wanted to be. And as much as he hated admitting it, he didn't have enough control to sit through classes on structural engineering without losing his mind.

"Just try the narcotics class. If you aren't interested at the end of the day, you don't need to go back, or you can take the class later after you've adjusted some. I'll get a full brochure for you with a list of different classes and their starting times."

Jim clenched his jaw shut, and it ached with a need to scream his frustration at being treated as though he was one step shy of a total mental breakdown.

"This is the part that many Sentinels find difficult when their senses come on line late," Nunez said slowly.

"I already know what you're talking about, so I would just as soon get it over with." Jim kept his eyes focused on the wall. A crack interrupted one mortar seam, and Jim studied it with careful precision, imagining the thing spreading and flaring out until it ripped down the entire building.

"I need you to take your pants off," Nunez said slowly. Jim's eyes snapped to him.

"What?" he asked darkly. Nunez froze, obviously realizing the danger because he didn't move or speak for several long seconds as a clock softly ticked off the time.

"When Sentinels leave their quarters, they need to wear a chastity device. I thought you... you said you knew," Nunez said carefully.

"I was talking about the damn collar," Jim said as he narrowed his eyes. For a second, he glared at Nunez, and then he ripped his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the floor as his rage swept up through him.

"Sentinels are vulnerable without a stable bond, and with your history of a broken bond, we just can't risk someone taking advantage of you. Of course, we can't risk anyone which is why the rule applies to all Sentinels outside their quarters."

"You want me to wear..." Jim's mouth refused to say the words.

"It's for your own protection."

"I thought this place was supposed to be safe," Jim said, struggling to control his temper.

"This place is as safe as we can make it. I promise you that nothing can ever harm you in this room," Nunez offered, his voice unctuous with a sincerity that might have even been real. Strangely, Jim would have preferred it if the man had been outright manipulative. If the asshole had simply announced that the chastity device was to take Jim's control, to belittle and humiliate him, Jim could have handled that better. He would have been able to simply turn his mind away and think of it as torture. Hell, it was a form of torture he'd been trained to expect in the Rangers because control over sexuality and bodily functions were key to breaking a prisoner.

"Forcing someone to wear something like that sounds like sexual abuse to me," Jim pointed out, using every bit of his control to keep himself from punching Nunez. "And for that matter, it won't stop an attacker. Locks can be picked, straps can be cut."

"But if someone tried, the staff would be aware immediately."

"So, you don't care about me being sexually abused as much as you knowing about it?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. That made Nunez stop for a second, opening his mouth without saying anything as he gathered his thoughts.

Jim tightened his fists, gripping the soft sheets and thick blanket as he tried to remind himself to stick to the plan: play good little defeated Sentinel, get out of this hellhole, escape. It was a good plan. Okay, it was a horrible plan, but it was his only plan, and at least ended with him free, so he needed to stick with it.

"Maybe this is too soon to discuss any of this," Nunez offered slowly.

"I want to take that class today," Jim disagreed as he stood. He started stripping off his pants, pretending this was one more military medical exam instead of a demented guidance counselor getting to degrade him. Accept the humiliation and torture without getting emotionally involved, he ordered himself. Follow his training. And no matter what shit Nunez spewed about protecting Sentinels, sexual control was about humiliation and control, not protection, so he wouldn't allow this to intimidate him.

"Mr. Ellison."

"Jim." He spit out his name.

Nunez hesitated.

"Mr. Ellison is my father, and William Ellison and I have a long and unpleasant history. I would prefer you call me Jim, but if that breaks some rule of yours, Sentinel or Sentinel Ellison is less offensive than Mr. Ellison."

"Jim," Nunez started again, "you're clearly not comfortable with this."

"And I never will be," Jim agreed, "but I don't want to be stuck in this room for the rest of my life."

"Other classes start soon; you don't need to do this today."

Jim stopped, his pants around his ankles as he stepped out of them. "I'm not going to be comfortable with this tomorrow or the day after or the day after that. If you want me to wait until I'm comfortable with something I find so intimately offensive, you might as well leave and seal that door closed behind you. So, how do we do this?" Jim kept his voice tightly controlled, but he couldn't keep the bitterness out of it.

"The gear is in the white cupboard," Nunez said. Jim walked over without his pants. The nice folks at intake hadn't provided any underwear, so he gave Nunez a floor show. Opening the cupboard, what he found made his mouth go dry with rage. He took several breaths before grabbing the plastic bin with all the materials in it.

"What next?" Jim asked, his fingers clenched around the plastic box just to keep them from going around Nunez's neck.

"I think that's far enough for today." Nunez slowly stood and backed toward the door. Jim swung around and glared the man into stillness.

"If you walk out this room, you'd better never come in here again," Jim warned.

"Sentinel Ellison," Nunez placated him, hands held out.

"I'm serious. I fucking hate this, and I'm doing my best to deal with it. I want out of this room that much. But if you can't respect my choice, I don't ever want to see you back in here again, not unless you want to see me truly lose my temper. And I don't mean go into a Sentinel rage... that'd be easy for you to dismiss. No, you either respect my decision to get this over with, or I will spend every breath telling you what manipulative fucking assholes you lot truly are... what perverts you all are. If you want me to ever deal with this shit, then you give me the right to make the very few decisions your rules allow me to make, and you don't fucking tell me when things are too much for me. You don't know the first fucking thing about me."

"You're clearly upset."

"No, I'm furious. One human being can be fucking furious with another without going off on some rage."

"I'll give you five minutes to calm down, and if your heart rate is back down, we'll keep going and you'll get to the afternoon class."

"If my..." Jim closed his eyes, one more illusion of privacy shattered as he realized Nunez had someone outside monitoring Jim's vitals. Jim turned away and retreated to the back where the sunlamp shone down on the growing flowers, individual drops of water trickling down the ridged back splash before dripping into the long trough at irregular periods. He heard the door close behind Nunez.

Closing his eyes, Jim thought of Incacha's face. He remembered the way Incacha would crouch in the dirt beside him, his hand streaking the black facepaint over Jim's cheeks as he taught him the language. "Wasi," he said and then he gestured toward his hut. "Wasi," toward the neighboring hut. "Wasi," toward the hut down the way. "Wasiy," Incacha changed the word slightly, pointing to his own house, the one he shared with his wife and Jim. "Wasi," he said the original word as he pointed to a second hut. "Wasi," he said pointing to a third.

Jim pointed to the house he shared with Incacha and Omili. "Wasiy." He pointed to one across the way, "Wasi." He pointed at Incacha's house again. "Wasi and Wasiy."

Incacha had smiled, and let his hand rest on Jim's naked shoulder. A connection flared open between them and Jim smiled back.

"Imaynatan munanki chaynallatataq munasunki," Incatcha had smiled and nodded. Jim hadn't understood Incacha's words at first, but he'd learned and listened and led when the warriors had looked for him to lead. Even when he zoned, he would wake up to find Incacha crouched beside him, a hand on his back as he hummed patiently. Jim had learned to not hate himself or the world in those 18 months, and now he held that memory like a shield.

Jim didn't realize the five minutes had passed until the door slid open again.

"Jim?" Nunez called.

"I want out of this room. I want to learn to deal with this shit because I'm not ever going to be able to turn these senses off." Jim didn't turn around, he just continued to finger the leaves of the flowers, his naked ass on display.

"This is not a perversion. This is the only way to make sure that no one can come in here and manipulate or abuse you."

"No one except you, you mean," Jim pointed out. He heard the zipper, and that made him spin around. Nunez pulled the band of his jeans down just far enough to show the edge of a leather belt around his waist.

"The chastity devices protect you out there, so the only place where Sentinels are vulnerable to sexual abuse is in their quarters. You don't have to wear it when you're in here. So, anyone who works with Sentinels in their quarters has to wear a chastity devise at work. I get the key to open it when I check out for the day. Unfortunately, in the past, there have been cases of instructors brought in for training taking advantage of Sentinels. But you're safe here. The process to become one of the in-house staff is extensive, and we are still not allowed to work with Sentinels without wearing a belt. "

"And you think that makes it even-steven?" Jim asked. "You can choose to never come back here again. You can decide to find another job, and not wear that thing. I don't have that choice."

"No," Nunez agreed slowly, "you don't. However, you were right that you do have a choice about when you deal with this. If you want to deal with it now, I shouldn't have tried to deny you that choice. I'm sorry."

"So, how do we do this?" Jim asked as he ignored his guidance counselor and looked at the offensive box on the bed.

"I can either talk you through putting it on yourself, I can put it on you today so that you know how to put it on yourself tomorrow, or I can put it on you each morning when you're ready to leave."

Jim hesitated. He didn't want Nunez's hands near him, but he didn't think he could control his temper as the man talked him through doing it to himself. "The second, where do you need me?" Jim asked quickly.

"Lean against the table or the wall with your legs spread, and we can get this over quickly," Nunez said with no emotion. Jim walked to the table and put his hands on it, spreading his legs and scooting back a little to open himself.

Without any explanation or apology, Nunez slipped the belt into place. The intrusion left Jim clutching the edge of the table and a clear plastic cup in front trapped Jim's genitals.

"The end of the strap goes through the small flat ring on the base of the butt plug so that no one can pull anything off," Nunez said as he demonstrated. He pulled leather tight. "I'll adjust the straps so that all you have to do is reach back here and get the fitting at the end of the strap up into the buckle, and it will lock into place."

Jim nodded, not sure he trusted his words at this point. Jim heard the piece lock into place, and he found himself staring down at his cock and balls trapped behind a long plastic shield. At the end, a slit allowed him to pee, but it wasn't his body any more. Behind him, Nunez stripped off the gloves with a snap.

"Any garbage with smells that might bother you, including fruit peeling or organic material, goes into the red trash chute. Paper products go in green. Everything else goes in blue. It's marked on the front of the chutes."

Jim nearly blessed Nunez's sudden dispassionate efficiency. It made the ordeal just a little more bearable. He went over to grab his pants, and walking was a new experience. When he bent over, he hissed as the straps pulled tighter.

"It will loosen up as you move," Nunez said, "So, you're signed up for the legal rights class in six days. That will run from 7am to noon for three days. At the end, you'll need to pass a test with a 100 percent in order to get the requirement signed off. The narcotics class starts in four hours. It runs from 2pm to 5pm for two weeks. Most of the Cascade police departments require you to have a 90 percent in each of your police classes in order to qualify for work. However, if you miss the 90 percent, you're welcome to retake the classes. Other major cities run about the same, but smaller towns will take Sentinels with scores in the eighties, sometimes down into the high seventies."

"Is it a test, like the legal class?" Jim asked, retying the string on his pants.

"No, the vocational classes are mostly hands-on. In narcotics, you need to be able to identify the drugs in a test scenario, and avoid or overcome the counter measures the testers will use to throw you off."

"So, it really is like training a police dog," Jim snorted. Nunez looked at him strangely, and Jim just shook his head, "Nothing."

"Jim, you're new, and still very stressed."

"Everyone's new at some point, and with you as my guidance counselor, I'm guaranteed to stay stressed for the foreseeable future," Jim answered. Then he saw what else Nunez had gotten out of the white cupboard. He closed his eyes in frustration.

"Is that really necessary?"

"When you're stressed, you need to learn to ask for help."

"And you think shackles are going to make me less stressed?" Jim asked.

"Without them, you have to exercise control all the time."

"And I have control," Jim said. He'd lost control once, exactly once, with Richardson. Even when he'd killed the thug who'd figured out he was a Sentinel, he'd done it with the calm efficiency of a soldier, not the hot rage of a Sentinel.

"You can't keep control all the time. Part of being here is learning how to ask for what you need." Nunez stood looking at Jim expectantly.

"No fucking way," Jim said as he crossed his arm. "If you want to chain me, I can't do much to stop you, but no fucking way am I asking you to chain me," Jim growled. Nunez nodded.

"There's time."

The words sank like a rock tied to Jim's soul and dropped into the ocean. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fucking do this.

Nunez walked closer, holding out the shackles, and Jim reluctantly surrendered his hands.

"The collars have to be specially fitted so they don't cause any irritation since they stay on all the time," Nunez said as he wrapped his hand around the short chain between Jim's hands. "Let's get your collar and then some lunch before class starts."

Shackled and strapped, Jim meekly followed Sam Nunez out the door of his quarters, resentment and fear wrapping around his limbs as he realized just how fucked he truly was.

FIVE  
***  
Blair slumped down on the bench at the bus station. This was the last contact from the Magna bust, and Blair rubbed his face as he watched the crowd. She wouldn't be coming in for an hour or two, but Blair needed to collect data for his anthropology paper anyway. He pulled out his computer pad and started inputting the physical set up so that he could gather his proxemics data.

With his hand on auto-pilot, Blair started considering the topic for his next paper. His dissertation committee was about ready to toss his ass right out of the PhD program because he wouldn't settle on one topic, but instead wrote whatever paper gave him the best cover for his work with the Sentinel squad. And now, Blair didn't know what he was doing here.

Watching people get off the bus and wander to various benches or exits, Blair made the appropriate marks on his chart. Maybe for his next paper he would make a historical study of how Sentinels interacted with society. Blair certainly knew of the widespread abuse of Sentinels all through the 16th and 17th centuries. Those early Sentinels had so often died in a country worried more and more about technology and less and less about their vulnerable protectors. The laws had been put in place to protect Sentinels as the tribal and village structure had fallen apart.

Maybe a study of how different modern societies integrated Sentinels. The ex-communist countries had very different views of Sentinels. Of course, they'd locked up a couple and let them rot, refusing to accept Sentinel rage as a defense and earning the wrath of human rights organizations around the world, but hey, Sentinels had rights. And Canada pretty much left theirs alone. South America though... the tribes still had tribal Sentinels, but the cities had pretty much degenerated into the same widespread abuse as Europe and North America in centuries past.

Blair curled a leg under him and wondered, for the first time, if any of the people around him were Sentinels. In the past, he'd always been able to spot them from a mile away... the flinching from noise and light, the tentative brushes against other people as they unconsciously sought the human contact they fed on, the fear when someone brushed against them as they struggled to decide if it had been an intentional attempt to manipulate them or just a casual touch. Jim had been the first to truly fool him.

Sighing, Blair opened the calendar keeper on his computer pad and typed in a reminder to make an appointment with the doc because this was quickly threatening to turn into a full-blown depression, and he could feel the pressure of a migraine nagging at the edge of his awareness.

Denise Churchly got off the bus, hugging her backpack to her as she edged to the side the minute she got off the bus. Shit. How could the others not see her as a Sentinel, Blair wondered as her eyes scanned the whole terminal. Blair returned to his data on proxemics and space. The team, including Richards and his Sentinel, Tony, would be locked on Blair, so Blair just needed to make quick contact with her and then watch from a distance.

Before Blair could start making any plans about how to initiate contact, he noticed her walking toward him.

"Hey," she said, "I noticed you watching."

Oh god. Blair smiled up, pushing away the realization that she was so vulnerable. If he'd been anyone but a cop, she would have just taken a step down a path that led to abuse and slavery.

"I'm watching everyone, but no one else seems to have noticed," Blair agreed as he held up his datapad.

"That looks like the station," she said, looking at the tiny diagram on the flat screen.

"Yep. I'm an anthropology student, PhD student actually," Blair said with a blush. "Well, a PhD student whose never going to get his doctorate if he doesn't find something horribly interesting to say about proxemics and public space, and I'm already bored by the topic." He shrugged. "It won't be the first time I abandoned a topic."

"A doctorate student? Wow. That's exciting."

Blair snorted. "Exciting? Oh man, not so much. It's more like one part excitement of discovering some really interesting new theory and then 6 parts boredom collecting the same data over and over and over and then 4 parts complete frustration as some old guys with degrees tell you how you screwed up the data."

"Oh." She looked around, and Blair saw his perfect chance for an exit. Make contact, break contact, let the team take the Sentinel down unless the situation required Blair to get the Sentinel somewhere private. This one didn't seem the type to go on a rampage and snap any necks, and Blair knew he should just excuse himself.

"You want some trail mix?" he asked instead.

"Sure." The woman sat next to Blair so close that their thighs pressed together and then she scooted away before putting a hand out for some food.

"You coming home, passing through, or here to visit?" Blair asked as he dumped raisins and seeds in her hand.

"I..."

She fell silent, cocking her head for a second before turning to look at him, confused.

"I'm visiting," she said warily. Blair could feel his heart give a jump. Busted. Fuck, his first time ever at getting caught, and it had to be by a woman who clearly needed help.

She narrowed her eyes, and Blair put the datapad down carefully and held his hands up in surrender.

"Hey, just calm down and I'll tell you everything."

The woman looked around desperately.

"It's already too late. The police have identified you, and they're just moving slow to keep you from panicking."

"To keep me from panicking? Too late for that," she snapped, then she cocked her head again.

"Blair?" she asked as she looked at him.

Blair chuckled. "I'm guessing you can hear my captain cursing me out."

"He says he's going to beat you to death with the rule book." She slid a little closer, and Blair could see the moment where she decided he was the innocent who need protection instead of the cop out to get her.

"He's threatened worse," Blair said soothingly. "He won't do it. He's threatened me with death so many times that if I ended up dead, he'd be the prime suspect, and he has too much work on his desk to take paid leave while they investigate."

"You're a cop," she accused him. Blair nodded.

"A cop and a PhD student in anthropology. I work with Sentinels."

"Hunting down runners who just want to be left alone?" she asked, her voice wavering between tears and fury.

"Most of the time, I work with trafficked Sentinels, men and women who've been subjected to some pretty bad stuff. I'm told I have a very soothing voice to listen to, but then Captain Yaden says that the sound of my voice makes him want to toss me off a building some days."

Denise looked at him with concern, and Blair smiled crookedly and smiled. "I have that effect on people."

"God, I thought I was going to make it. I just wanted to have a normal life. If I could have just gotten to Canada..."

Blair thought about that. "Maybe if you'd found a man who would act as your companion, who would let you lock your senses onto him without abusing you," he mused.

Denise cocked her head, listening. "Your captain says he's going to strangle the stupidity out of you," she said. Blair could imagine Rick used more colorful words.

"I'm just telling the truth," Blair shrugged. "But Denise, how many men have you met in your life who cherished and protected you without ever walking all over your feelings or taking advantage of the fact that you'd do anything for them?" he asked. For a second, she searched his face in confusion, and then she processed the answer to that question.

She slumped.

"Yeah, men suck," Blair said sympathetically.

"As a man, you're supposed to stick up for your gender," Denise pointed out.

"Oh, not a chance. I suck more than most," Blair said sadly. "I totally don't mean to suck, but I think the whole shafting people is hardwired into male brains the way the need to protect the tribe is hardwired into yours."

"Nature over nurture?" she asked.

Blair smiled at her. "Totally. Maybe," he amended himself. "I'm having a period of intense unsureness right now, so get back to me in a month or two and I may be back at my arrogant best."

"God, I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Just sit here with me, right now," Blair asked. She started laughing. Her laughter turned rough, sobs of breath between, and Blair let his hand rest on her arm. Eventually she sucked in deep breaths and controlled her laughter, but not her shaking.

"I don't think I could stand up and go anywhere if I tried," she admitted.

"There's a pill I could give you. You would fall asleep right here, and when you wake up, you'd be in the Institute with people who understand how hard this transition is," Blair offered.

She didn't answer either way, so Blair pulled out a small pillbox and handed it to her. "Your choice."

"If I say no?" she asked.

Blair flashed on the image of Jim, surrounded by chains and cops and Bill with the tranq gun pointed at him. He flinched away from the memory.

"That bad?" Denise asked.

"Oh man, I'm not supposed to be freaking you out. I'm sorry. I just... I don't like to see Sentinels scared, and without the pill, it's a scary transition. But whether you take the pill or not, just remember that you're safe."

Denise flipped open the small blue case and looked at the pill inside. "I don't think I can deal with being scared anymore. Will you stay here?"

"I'll be here the whole way. I'd stay with you until you woke up if they let me, but I think my captain is going to have me doing paperwork for the next month or so."

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," Denise said as she let her hand rest on Blair's knee. Blair was used to frightened Sentinels touching him, so he let his own hand rest on hers.

"Hey, getting in trouble is like a family tradition. The only thing that keeps my mother from crying every time she thinks about me becoming a cop is the fact that I am *always* breaking one of their precious rules and pissing someone off."

"She's not a fan of the cops, huh?"

"Naomi? No."

"Tell her you're one of the good ones," Denise said. She took the white pill out and popped it in her mouth before pulling a bottle of water out of her bag and taking a big drink.

"How long will it take?" she asked.

"About twenty minutes. You'll start getting sleepy a long time before you actually fall asleep," Blair told her. "If you want to lie down, no one's going to hassle you."

"I guess they can't arrest me for vagrancy again," she agreed.

"They arrested you?" Blair asked. She nodded as he moved her backpack to the floor and slid down on the bench to give herself room to lay down.

"I was at this park. It was the only place in Chicago where I didn't feel like I was getting eaten alive by the fumes and the sounds. I hadn't slept in days, and I sat down on the grass just to relax, and I guess I fell asleep."

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," Blair promised as she settled her head in his lap, one of her hands curling around his leg as she held onto him. For a long time, they lay in silence as her body slowly relaxed.

"I guess I'll have a roof over my head now," she agreed sadly. "I always wanted the perfect little dream, you know? A house in the suburbs and a husband and kids. I wanted to be a nurse and volunteer afternoons at my kids' school."

"Hey, you could still have kids. Procreation is one of the basic human rights a Sentinel is guaranteed. Just let the Institute know, and they'll pair you with a guardian who wants lots of little baby Denises running around."

"That'd be nice," she muttered, the drugs clearly starting to kick in.

"And hospitals are always desperate for Sentinel nurses, especially in pediatrics where the kids can't always explain what hurts. Every test puts a child through some sort of pain, but you could just listen and hear a heart defect or smell the skin and identify some infection. It takes a long time studying to become a Sentinel nurse, but I bet you could do it."

"I'm not afraid of hard work," she agreed groggily. She turned so her face pressed to Blair's stomach and she curled an arm around his back.

"Tell me the truth, it's going to be hard, isn't it?"

Blair stroked her hair. "Yeah, it's going to be really hard. You're going to have to learn to let someone else take control."

Blair felt his own heart contract in fear that not everyone could do that. Not everyone could survive having all the control stripped away until only the vulnerabilities and the senses remained. Not all Sentinels survived the Institute. He knew the numbers. Sometimes, late at night, he tortured himself with the percentages of Sentinels who zoned and died at the Institute or the percentage labeled intractable and moved to permanent institutions.

"But if you try, you might find that future doesn't look all that different," Blair whispered. Denise smiled weakly.

"That's the first outright lie you've told me," she said as she reached up and brushed a clumsy finger over his lips. Her hand flopped back down, and her eyes closed.

Blair just continued to stroke her hair as Rick and the others came up. Richards and Tony stood back a bit, Richards' hand on his Sentinel's arm. The polished silver of Tony's collar rested loosely on his collarbones, warning those nearby that he was a Sentinel, unpredictable if annoyed. Unlike last time, they didn't have chains and tranq guns. This time, they had a stretcher. Pedestrians pulled back as the Sentinel team moved in around Blair and Denise. People pointed and whispered as Karen and Rick rolled the Sentinel's limp body off Blair and gently lifted her to the stretcher. Bill checked her heart rate and respiration and hooked a monitor to her before setting the control box on her stomach.

"Don't forget her bag," Blair said as he bent over and picked up the worn thing. He handed it to Karen who smiled at him.

"Blair, hon," she said sadly.

"I know, I know," Blair said as he held up his hand. "I so don't think Rick will give me a pass on this one."

"Damn right I won't," Rick growled as he carefully tightened restraints over Denise's limp body. "Tomorrow morning, my office, and you had better have that charmed tongue of yours ready because I am about ready to pull you from undercover," Rick threatened. Blair nodded mutely, not even sure he wanted to fight to keep the job, not now.

Morning came, and Blair still didn't have any answers, not for himself and not for Rick. Blair sat in his captain's office waiting for the man to get back from Records, and Blair had no doubts about which file he was pulling.

By the time Rick came in, mumbling to himself darkly, Blair pretty much figured that his job was over, and along with it, his secret fantasy of asking for custody of Jim himself. He could slip in a guardianship class between the end of the semester, and summer school. Part of Blair whispered that this was a poor way to make up for imprisoning the man in the first place.

"Okay, time for you to explain exactly what the hell you were doing yesterday," Rick demanded.

Blair took a deep breath and then couldn't find any words at all. They all abandoned him in his moment of greatest need.

"Fuck, Blair. What the hell were you thinking? Make contact, and then retreat, that was the plan. I signed off on Ellison because that guard nearly caused a fucking disaster in the airport, but then you got in the car with him. And then this shit with Churchly... I don't know what's going on in your head Blair, but you are off retrieval."

"Rick," Blair said.

"God, Sandburg, don't say something that will make this worse."

"Do you ever worry about whether we're doing the right thing by them, bringing them in instead of just focusing on stopping the traffickers?"

"And that would be the worse." Rick slapped the file down on his desk as he walked around and dropped into his seat. "Fuck and more fuck. Ellison really screwed your head on backwards."

"Rick..."

"No, you had focus before that case."

"But what if it's the wrong focus? What if we're looking at this all wrong? I was reading last night, and in the former Soviet countries, Sentinels have the full rights of a citizen. The rates of violence are actually lower than in the U.S. And yeah, there have been some pretty public cases where Sentinels went to jail for situations that we would have called instinct-driven, normal behavior, and maybe that's not the ideal world either, but are you sure we have the right answers?"

"Blair," Rick sighed as he let rubbed his eyes tiredly. "We're cops. We have to enforce the laws, and if the laws aren't right, then you get someone to change the laws, but you don't sit around discussing whether or not you want to enforce the law."

"Yeah, I get that but--"

"No!" Rick shouted. "Listen to what I'm saying, Sandburg. A cop doesn't interpret laws."

"I hear you, I totally hear you because that would be anarchy, but I'm just starting to wonder if--"

"Don't say it," Rick stopped him, holding up a hand.

"Rick," Blair said desperately. He wasn't sure if he wanted Rick to convince him that he had done the right thing in turning these Sentinels over to the SI or if he wanted Rick to give him permission to give the next one a pass.

"Blair, this is a topic for one of your papers. Academics sit around talking about the implications of laws and beliefs and rules. We enforce. If you can't enforce the law, you can't be a cop."

"Oh man, I know. And part of my brain keeps telling my mouth to shut up because I love this job. I love helping people, and I love the challenge, and I'm totally addicted to the adrenaline rush. But I can't just keep doing this, and you deserve someone who actually believes in what he's doing, and if we're going up against a trafficker, I am so right there with you, but runners... I just don't know."

"So, you'll send trauma victims from trafficking cases to SI, but you want an exemption for someone like Ellison?"

Blair got up from his seat and walked to the window. "I don't know. I guess... I guess I just want someone to ask the questions. Why was Ellison okay in that airport? If the fear-based reactions are that uncontrollable, why didn't he go off on the guard? Why didn't he snap my neck when I blew my cover? Man, he was furious with me. I mean totally ready to rip my guts out furious, but the worst thing I got was a rug burn on my cheek from him dropping me face-down on the couch."

"And if he had so much control, how do you explain a dead guard on that army base?"

"That's just it. I don't know. Shouldn't we know these answers before we go thinking that we can decide what's best for them?"

"Blair, these are questions for you to ask someone at the university. I can't even say I disagree with you, but you can't bring this into the department. We have a job here."

"Yeah, but I just don't know if I can do it anymore," Blair said, chewing at his lip. "I want to, but I outted myself with Denise. I looked at her, and I just couldn't tell her that I was there to help without wondering if I was telling her the truth. We've spent the last fifty years in this country trying to overcome racism, get people to look past skin color and then we turn around and put a shiny collar on Sentinels so that people don't even look as far as the skin... they see the silver collar, and they just stop thinking."

"And you'd rather have a world where some drunk shoves a Sentinel out of his way and gets his neck snapped? Those collars provide a warning, and they're obviously not too horrible or else we wouldn't have to keep confiscating counterfeits from the idiot teenagers."

"Yeah, but the teenagers have a choice to put it on or take it off, and *we* collar these people. Rick, that's..."

"That's the way it's been done for 200 years."

"Which does nothing to make it right. Man, I just don't think I can do this any more."

"And you're not the type to play in the backup band with the chains and tranq gun," Rick added. Blair shivered in revulsion.

"Blair, you have a couple of options here. You could quit."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I've thought of that, and it sucks."

"It does, but option two would be to transfer to another department."

"What?" Blair looked up at Rick, suddenly confused because the conversation had taken a ninety-degree turn somewhere and he had clearly missed the exit.

"Blair, you're an incredible investigator, and you do fifty hours a week when you get paid for thirty. Every department in the station hates me because I have you and they don't."

"But, man, I just do the Sentinel thing," Blair objected.

"You do the Sentinel thing and the witness thing and the research thing, and the occasionally pulling brilliant ideas out of your ass thing."

"Another department?"

"Sanchez in Narcotics downstairs would be one option. Keller in Vice and Banks in Major Crimes over at Central precinct would be two more. You could pretty much take your pick of them, and none of them deal with Sentinels. I assume you don't have a problem going after pornographers or drug dealers or murderers."

Blair shook his head. "No, no problem at all. I'm just a little... okay, I'm totally like blown away because I never really thought of myself as a real cop. I'm just the guy who's good with Sentinels who you let hang around."

Rick shook his head. "Sandburg, sometimes you are more than a little slow. You've been a cop in here since the first day you put your life on the line when that scared Sentinel went for Karen. Cops look out for each other, and now it's time we look after you. So, what sounds interesting, professor?"

"I don't know. I mean, any of them could really have some interesting cases. Which department would you suggest?"

"Banks. I remember all the shit that man used to put our captain through when we started together over in Traffic about a hundred years ago. If anyone deserves to put up with your shit, it's Simon Banks."

"Major Crimes?" Blair thought about that for a second. Maybe he could still apply for custody of Jim, and at least then, Jim wouldn't have to put up with someone who didn't know what he could do. At least then, Jim would have a chance at freedom because Blair knew he didn't have the heart to stop the man a second time.

SIX  
***  
"Sandburg, this is Brian Rafe and Henri Brown," Simon introduced Blair to a good looking younger man and a smiling African American who he'd interrupted in the middle of telling his partner a joke. From the blush on Rafe's face, it wasn't a clean one.

"Hey," Brown offered with a nod.

"Gentlemen, this is Blair Sandburg who transferred over from Sentinel division."

"I thought you couldn't get approval for another detective," an older white man said as he walked up to them.

"Elijah Carter, Blair Sandburg," Simon introduced them. Elijah held out his hand and Blair took it, still feeling a little like a college student who someone had slipped into the room as a joke. "And we can't get another full-time detective which is why Sandburg is such a god-send. He's a university student, so he works thirty hours. As long as he solves as many cases in thirty as you mutts do in forty, we might have a chance to get caught up around here."

"I thought we liked always being buried in our own paperwork," Henri joked. Simon glared at the man.

"And this," Simon said, taking Blair's arm and guiding him away from the other detectives and toward a heavyset African American, "is Joel Taggart. He's captain of the bomb squad, but the man seems to live over here."

"You have better donuts," Joel smiled as he held out his hand. Blair shook it. "Actually, I'm always over here because any case that turns out to be a bomb and not just a teenager sticking wires out of a box for kicks is automatically a Major Crimes case."

"Yeah, that's a terrible thing to do," Blair muttered, blushing as he remembered a prank on Whitehall dorms his sophomore year.

"Oh hell yeah! Look at Hairboy's blush! I am no longer the only member of this department who had a little fun in his youth," Henri laughed.

Blair looked over at the amused acceptance in Joel's face and shrugged. "Sorry, man. It really seemed funny at the time. But in my own defense, I was about sixteen at the time, and sixteen year olds have a very tentative grasp of humor."

"So do people who act like they're sixteen," Banks muttered under his breath.

"Young at heart. You people just do not appreciate that I am young at heart," Henri teased. Blair smiled. So, Henri had class clown all sewn up, so he wondered what that left for him. He had that familiar feeling from childhood: starting at a new school and not really sure where he should slip himself into the pre-existing relationships.

"You were at the Sentinel division. People don't usually transfer out of there," Joel mused. Blair shrugged, and then glanced from Joel to Simon. No way had Joel heard Simon's comments to Henri and Brian, which mean that the two captains had already talked about this. Blair sighed. He'd assumed Rick would go over this with them.

"I love taking down the traffickers, but I just lost my nerve with undercover work. I mean, I couldn't lie to the runners anymore."

"If you could ever pull off a lie in front of a Sentinel, you're the greatest undercover man in history," Simon pointed out.

"Oh man, it's about not lying. It's about obfuscating and embellishing and totally believing what you're saying. And I was the best, but the last couple of cases, I just can't tell myself that the Institute is the best thing for men and women who are surviving on their own. Not any more."

"The Institute. I can't say I'm a fan of theirs, but it beats having Sentinels lose control because some drunk idiot takes a punch." Joel exchanged a meaningful look with Simon.

"There's your desk. I'll let you get settled before I drop a half-ton of files on your desk," Simon said, his voice suddenly efficiency and business before he turned and walked back to his office.

"Way to tread softly, there, Taggart," Henri commented before he pulled his partner away. Elijah sucked a breath and nodded his agreement with Henri's comments before he headed back to his area.

"Okay, I obviously missed something," Blair said as he looked around the suddenly quiet room.

"I'll show you the break room and fill you in. If you worked with Sentinels, you're going to hit a nerve sooner or later."

Joel headed out the Major Crimes doors, and Blair followed, feeling like he'd just stepped in quicksand and everyone was trying not to make eye contact with him in case he decided to drag them in with him. The break room wasn't as nice as over at Sentinel division, but the donuts sitting on the counter were definitely better than average. Blair chewed on a bearclaw, promising himself that's he'd drink two algae shakes tomorrow to make up for it, as he waited for Joel to settle himself at the table.

"Simon has Sentinel issues."

"Man, a lot of people are uncomfortable about Sentinels, and I totally understand that because ignorance--"

"No," Joel interrupted. "Simon's is a little more personal. He had a brother, well, a half-brother, a good deal older than he was. The fact is that Simon didn't even know his brother all that well. Darnell was a punk. He got good and drunk one night, and gets in a fight in some bar. When the first guy turns and runs, Darnell picks the next guy in line and sucker punches him. The Sentinel snapped his neck."

"But didn't he see the collar?" Blair asked, his stomach dropping as he considered his captain's past. He'd wanted custody of Jim. He'd even filled out the paperwork, and it was sitting on his kitchen table.

"Who knows what Darnell saw. He had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. But the part that always makes Simon see red... the Sentinel had a history of violence, and yet he was still out there, still walking around free."

"But, that shouldn't happen. If a Sentinel can't exhibit control, the guardian is put on notice to keep him closer. Where was his guardian?"

"Passed out in the corner."

"Oh, man."

"Yeah. The system isn't perfect, and it failed. This guy was one hell of a cop, and his brothers in blue covered for some pretty serious problems. The only thing is that Darnell paid for it. Simon isn't prejudiced, but he doesn't like the fact that this guy snapped his big brother's neck and no one even considered punishing him. He got removed from his guardian's custody, retrained at the Institute, and then assigned somewhere else, and no one is on notice that they have a killer in the middle of their department."

"The guardian would know," Blair disagreed. "And as much as I hate seeing the chains, if a Sentinel has a history of violence, especially out-of-proportion violence, a guardian has a duty to keep a Sentinel chained around any unpredictable situation, and a bar is about as unpredictable as they come."

"That doesn't bring Darnell back."

"No, but Joel, living your whole life in chains, isn't that punishment?"

Joel nodded. "Maybe it is, but it's the same punishment every Sentinel lives with every day. Whether the chains are on or not, they're wards of the state, and they're essentially prisoners. There's no consequence for taking a man's life, even though it was the fourth assault and the second murder this Sentinel had committed."

"The social worker or the judge should have removed him the minute they saw a pattern of violence."

Joel shook his head and smiled sadly. "Blair, you can't expect the system to work all the time. It doesn't."

"But, man, blaming all Sentinels..."

"He doesn't. But I thought this needed to come out now before you went and started talking about how wonderful Sentinels are. Simon doesn't need that, and sometimes, as much as I like Simon, sometimes I have to say that he can hold a grudge longer than a Christian should."

"Fuck," Blair breathed softly, looking down at his half-eaten donut. Could he bring Jim into this situation?

"Blair?"

"I have the paperwork all filled out to request a Sentinel," Blair admitted. Joel was clearly the peacemaker of the department, even if he technically wasn't in the department, so maybe Joel could help his sort this one.

"Ah." Joel took a drink of coffee and avoided saying anything else. Okay, maybe not.

"His name's Ellison. He was special ops, a runner for over a year, and a functioning Sentinel in South America for a year and a half before that. He went into the Institute three weeks ago."

"James Joseph Ellison?" Joel asked in surprise.

"You know him?"

"Of him, yeah," Joel agreed. "He's a local boy, so when my sister saw his name in the paper down in Houston, she sent me the clippings."

"Clippings?" Blair had read Jim's entire file, it was SOP on a retrieval case. He'd read the news clipping from Jim's rescue from Peru, including the front cover of a news magazine, and the much smaller stories when Jim turned out to be a Sentinel. He hadn't seen anything from Houston.

"Jim was in the METRORail hijacking outside that Museum in Houston five or six months ago."

"The one where the three guys who'd robbed the bank took a train full of hostages?" Blair asked. He remembered that case. He didn't remember any Sentinel, much less Jim Ellison, being involved.

"Yeah. Apparently he took control of the situation from the start, got the passengers settled down, acted as negotiator with the cops, all the time a gun pressed into the back of his head. When the end came, he disabled two of the gunmen in the middle of a teargas attack."

"Shit." Blair flinched at the idea of a Sentinel and teargas. The police had to pull all their own Sentinels out of a six-block radius before using tear gas, and Jim had been ground zero of an attack.

"How bad was he hurt?"

"No more than anyone else. Houston papers had pictures of him stumbling out of the teargas cloud with a gunman under one arm, and three guns in his other hand."

"But-"

"Yeah, but he's a Sentinel. They didn't know that at the time. He gave the name Frank Sarris. Turns out that was one of his army buddies. By the time the papers had tracked down background information and gotten through some military blocks to find out Frank Sarris was dead, Ellison had disappeared out of the hospital."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, the national papers had pretty much dropped it by then, but someone from the army identified Ellison from the picture. He turned into a regular folk hero, and the whole disappearing act just made him seem like some comic book hero riding in, rescuing the innocent, and then disappearing into the night."

"But the teargas..."

"Blair, live as long as I have, and you figure out a couple of things. First, the system always breaks, you just don't want to be the one to break it, and second, people are very capable of doing the impossible on a fairly regular basis."

Blair sat and stared at the linoleum table top. His graduate degree had been on tribal Sentinel lore of Africa. He worked Sentinel division for three years. If he really understood Sentinels, they shouldn't be able to surprise him, and yet Jim did, time after time.

"I'm going to file for custody," Blair said quietly. He couldn't change his society, but he could at least give the man back as much control as possible. Blair remembered that large, powerful body laying on him, holding him helpless, and he gave a shiver. He wouldn't mind giving Jim control at all.

"Simon will deal, and if your Ellison really does have that much control, Simon will give him a chance. Just... just be careful how you bring it up," Joel warned.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Blair nodded as Joel pushed himself up from the table with a heavy sigh and headed out of the break room. Funny. One of the reasons he took this transfer was because Major Crimes would run into plenty of cases that needed a Sentinel and right now, there weren't any Sentinels assigned to any shift of Major Crimes. Now Blair knew why. Well, if he had to, he'd transfer again.

Jim eyed the chastity devise distastefully. The clock warned him that time was running out, though, so he hurried to get it on and get dressed before Nunez showed up. The man had a bad habit of nonchalantly watching Jim while discussing test scores and schedules and classes, and his very lack of reaction gave Jim a bad feeling.

He was used to locker rooms where men checked each other out with sidelong glances just to make sure they measured up. He was used to embarrassed eyes going everywhere but his equipment as men hid their desire. He even got a fair share of teasing from other officers, good natured insults that he didn't take very seriously considering he had nothing to worry about in the measuring department. He wasn't used to someone being in the room and not even noticing him, as though he were one more chair or table.

Grimacing, Jim pushed the plug into himself and awkwardly started strapping himself in. Anyone who could write a regulation to require a person to shove something up their own ass just to earn the right to leave the room obviously had a pretty deep streak of sadism.

Pressing the lock into place, Jim stretched and bent to get everything situated correctly before pulling his pants on. He left the drawstring loose since Nunez would want to check the lock before letting him out. Jim was just washing up when the door swung open without warning. The substitute duo who tended Jim when Nunez had a day off would knock first, but Nunez never gave Jim that courtesy.

"Morning, Jim," he said, his eyes on his clipboard.

"Morning," Jim answered as civilly as possible.

"The test scores are in for the Narcotics class." Nunez looked up and smiled. "100%. Top of the class."

Jim wanted to point out that this big achievement was learning a task normally reserved for a dog, but that would be sarcastic. It had taken Jim two weeks to earn the right to go to class without shackles and without Nunez standing at his side. He didn't want to lose the ground he'd gained. He had a plan to focus on.

"I'm glad," he said instead. "But it wasn't exactly a hard class."

"That qualifies you for a class in anti-Sentinel tactics offered by the FBI, interested?" Nunez asked.

"Yeah," Jim agreed quickly.

"Before you agree, you have to know that this is a tough one. White noise generators, pepper spray, sirens, terrorists will use pretty much anything to throw a Sentinel off, and the class does not pull punches. I've had some of my Sentinels sign up before, and they end up with their eyes burning, their ears ringing, and sometimes they go from the practice field straight to the infirmary."

"I was military. I'm not that easy to drop."

"Yeah, but these guys are trying to train you to deal with terrorists who are specifically attacking your senses. And the class requires you to train in full shackles, including the center chain."

That made Jim pause. He didn't bother hiding his hatred of the chains because he couldn't act well enough to pull it off.

"The instructors... they really push? They'll show some tactics for controlling the senses in those conditions?" Jim asked, remembering one horrible day in Houston when his eyes had burned so badly that it had taken every ounce of control to not literally rip them from his head. Sometimes he still had nightmares where his own hands pulled his eyes out, and yet Jim could still see them weeping and bloody in his hands.

"They have techniques to help you close down your senses when they're under attack, but not everyone can easily learn them. Most Sentinels just can't concentrate on shutting down a sense that is going out of control. And there is a serious risk of spiking."

"I'll deal with the shackles, sign me up," Jim said. The only part of this experience that made it bearable was learning how to better control his senses. Sandburg had been right about one thing, Jim was so overwhelmed in that airport that he had been close to losing control. Next time when he ran, he was going to be better prepared. Make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape, that was the plan. And information was the most valuable resource. He could afford to sacrifice a little dignity.

"The class starts in three weeks. I just want your word that you'll let me know if it gets too overwhelming."

"I'll be fine," Jim answered.

"That's pretty much your answer for everything," Nunez sighed as he sat at the table and pushed aside two of Jim's class books.

"And so far, I've been fine, so I'm right," Jim smiled back. He leaned against the wall waiting for the other shoe to drop because Nunez clearly had something else on his mind.

"Do you want to talk about Alex?"

"Barnes?" Jim asked. "She's a bitch, conversation over."

"The legal rights teacher said she's been targeting a few of you for some real harassment."

"Good to know the woman isn't totally oblivious. I thought maybe she had gone blind at some point because that would explain why she never calls Alex on any of the shit she pulls."

Jim walked over and grabbed his shirt off the chair. Same shirt, same pants, every day. Jim had never thought much about clothes, at least not when he wasn't undercover and trying to project a specific image, but now he would give anything to go shopping for polo shirts. The shirts they gave him had wide necks to show off his shiny collar, the one he avoided looking at every morning when he shaved.

"Are you angry with Alex?" Nunez prodded.

"I'm angry with myself for missing those two questions so that I have to take the whole fucking class over again," Jim answered quickly. "I'm really frustrated with myself over that one."

"How is most of the class reacting?"

"They stay away from her," Jim answered. Most of the students at the Institute had been raised knowing they were Sentinels. They'd gone to neighborhood grade schools, and then as they got older and the senses and instincts started appearing, they transferred to Sentinel high schools in the city or got home schooled. A few had gone through regular high school with aids who walked to classes with them. But no matter what, when they graduated, they transferred immediately to an Institute. For them, it wasn't different from their friends going off to college.

Alex, another runner who hadn't run very far considering her Sentinel abilities were triggered while she was in prison, made it a little hard for them to pretend the Institute was just the Sentinel version of college because the older Sentinel would have had her ass kicked out of college. The young Sentinels--seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old--would come to class gossiping and whispering and copying notes from each other. And then Alex would show up, shackled hand and foot, and cursing like no sailor Jim had ever met.

"Do you stay away from her?" Nunez asked.

"The best I can. The woman has issues."

"Yes, we're all well aware of that."

"And yet, no one calls her on them because she's a Sentinel, so her actions don't have consequences. Let her verbally attack some seventeen year old kid, and everyone just pats Alex on the head and says she's having anger issues." Jim shook his head in disgust.

"You think she should be punished."

"I think there should be consequences," Jim corrected him.

A little voice in the back of Jim's head told him to just drop it, to go along with the plan and play good little boy. Arguing with captors was dangerous because they held the power. It was human nature to want to survive, and so faced with conflict with a captor, the mind would be more easily influenced. Jim remembered the military instructor who had taught that class in capture and survival. He'd been a Vietnam war veteran, and near the end of class one day, he'd pulled his shirt back and shown a vicious line of scars, each a small, jagged, white cross etched into his skin from shoulder to hip. Jim almost wished he had a visible scar, one that he could point to. Instead he had plastic shoved up his ass.

"You think Alex should be... corrected for having anger issues."

"I think Alex should face the consequences of acting like a bitch."

"Alex acts like a bitch, and you can be one stubborn bastard, but I don't think either of you deserve to be abused because of that."

Jim narrowed his eyes and barely bit back a retort about being force to wear a collar, about having to shove plastic up his ass every morning and ask for guards to escort him to the bathroom to watch him if he needed to shit, about two weeks of walking around with his wrists chained and Nunez's hand constantly on him making Jim want to shrug his touch off like a horse sheds a fly. He had lots of examples of abuse, but he shoved that back. That wouldn't earn him a chance to escape.

"The military doesn't abuse anyone, but they sure wouldn't put up with shit like that," Jim pointed out carefully.

"What would they do?"

"I would have been doing push ups until I couldn't lift my arms for doing half the shit she does."

"But what if someone just refuses to do the push ups?"

Jim snorted. "Not an option."

"But it is. If a soldier just utterly refused to do what he was told. Just woke up one day and decided that no matter what anyone said, he wouldn't do it."

"He'd get court-martialed."

"And when his time in jail was up?"

Jim spotted the trap. No way to avoid it now. "He'd be discharged," Jim said, kicking himself for getting into this debate in the first place. Fuck. A month ago he knew better than to get into debates like this. But if he didn't... if they thought he hadn't broken, he wasn't ever going to get out of here.

"You're going to be Sentinels for the rest of your lives. And I know this is hard on you, but you have kept a good deal of your identity. All the classes you're taking are focused on law enforcement, a field you were interested in before the senses. You're still Jim Ellison. Alex Barnes was a thief. Now she's lost her rights as a citizen, a situation you should sympathize with, but she's also lost her identity because we certainly aren't going to pair her with a guardian who will take her out for some second-story work."

"She's still out of line," Jim growled.

"Yes, she is. So, how are the others reacting?"

"You mean other than crying?" Jim asked. Jim had sat with his jaw locked as Alex had targeted a girl straight out of a Sentinel high school. This was her first class, and Alex had called her a Sentinel whore, had asked whether she was taking classes to learn how to spread her legs for her new owners. Only Alex had used words that not even the most battle-hardened veteran Jim had ever worked with would have used.

The girl had stood for a moment on the verge of flying at Alex. Normally Jim did his best to quietly encourage the younger ones to show some self-control, but in that moment, he'd just wanted Becky to haul off and punch Alex. A handler had hurried in, and when she put her hand on Becky's shoulder, Becky had collapsed into tears, hiding her face in the handler's neck and clinging to her.

Alex smirked, and Jim fought as every cell in his body wanted to stand up and punch the woman. The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge that he was so much larger that he probably would have killed her.

"Becky's fine," Nunez said quietly.

"And I didn't lose control," Jim pointed out.

"You're a good example for the others in just how much control you can have over your anger, but you could be modeling other positive behaviors as well, and maybe, at the same time, making it a little easier for Alex."

The Institute might be messing with Jim's head, but it hadn't made him stupid. He knew exactly what Nunez wanted. Clenching his jaw, Jim moved to the door.

"Is that all?" he asked tightly.

"Yeah," Nunez stood up. "You need these?" he asked, gesturing toward the table and the books.

"Not until this afternoon," Jim said, holding his breath against the expected order.

"Okay." Nunez stood up and walked over, pulling the back of Jim's pants down far enough that he could pull on the straps and make sure it was all locked. That done, he reached out and put his hand on the flat panel that would open Jim's door for the day. It would stay open until Nunez checked him in for the night.

"You're not going to..." Jim paused. He should just walk out the door and not mention it. The door clicked and then Nunez could easily push it back into the wall pocket.

"You haven't lost control, so I'm not ordering you to do anything. You know what would make it easier on Alex, easier on the other Sentinels. A couple of the boys are avoiding it too, probably because they look up to you, and one of the other employees certainly requested that I talk to you. They're afraid their boys are going to lose control."

"So just chain the boys," Jim said, clenching his fists in order to even say the words.

"But they're in the same position you are. They haven't lost control yet. You're the one who likes to talk about actions and consequences. We can't just assume they'll lose control, not even if we know they will."

Jim stood in the hallway outside his door. Fuck. It would be so easy to ask, and the fact was that a little part of Jim even suspected it was a good idea. He really had wanted to hit Alex, and maybe he was a little close to losing control. Maybe the chains would remind him that he didn't have control here. And he knew that eventually he'd have to ask for the chains. He wouldn't ever get placed in a less secure facility if he didn't.

Fuck and fuck. He just wished that his first time asking for them hadn't been a situation where he came so close to needing them. He should be able to control himself. Someone like Alex shouldn't be able control him, and yet, when he got to near her, he could feel her emotions pulling on him. The Sentinel biology class called it a sympathetic response. It meant their hormones were chemically similar enough to influence each other, but she sure didn't seem influenced by his control.

And Alex did target the Sentinels who weren't chained. He could understand her frustration because the first two weeks, he'd been angry every time he'd watched the young ones run around without restraints while he had his hands chained and Nunez's touch on his shoulder.

Jim gritted his teeth. "Maybe I should wear the restraints today," he finally forced himself to say.

"It would help the others. And it's okay to ask for help when you need it," Nunez quickly assured him as he hurried over to the white cabinet, pulling out the wrist cuffs.

Jim forced himself to stay still and hold out his hands as Nunez locked them into place.

"I'll meet you back here at lunch to take them off before your afternoon classes, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Jim managed through clenched teeth. He didn't need to mention to Nunez the military class in fighting cuffed. Hell, with this much chain, Jim could probably choke the woman to death with the restraints. However, from the way Nunez smiled at him, Jim knew he'd made the right choice. One step closer to his plan.

He headed down the long hall where the older Sentinels had private rooms and toward the classroom areas. And despite firmly ordering himself not to, Jim found himself straining against the restraints.

SEVEN  
***  
"Good job, Hairboy, we might actually keep you around. I mean, without you around, that so would have been me," Henri joked. Blair planted an elbow in the man's stomach as he came up behind him.

"Hey, this is my new shirt," he complained, even though Blair had seen him wear that same god-awful green and blue disaster a dozen times.

"Yeah, yeah, you say one more word, and I'm giving you a bear hug," Blair warned him. With the manure clinging to him, the threat carried some weight.

"If he hugs you, you're walking home," Rafe scowled from a safe distance.

"You're my partner, you're supposed to have my back!" Brown groused with mock pain as he glared at Rafe, but Blair could see the smile.

"You'll still walk."

"Good job people. This guy is going down for the count," Simon congratulated them as he walked up. "Now that we've made the filthy rich safe from blackmail, I think we might have a murder or two waiting back on our desks."

"Well that's a record for shortest time basking in the glory of a bust," Blair said as he grabbed the hose. "And next time someone votes for surveillance in a stable, count me out. I'm sure I'll have a test at the university or something that day." Blair turned the water on, and then pointed the hose at himself. The surveillance hadn't gone all that badly, but tackling the suspect right into the pile of horse dung had not made Blair a happy camper. His only consolation was the fact that the cuffed suspect was going to jail smelling like horse shit.

"You're just making yourself smell worse," Simon complained as the water soaked into the manure.

"Yeah, I'm figuring that out." Blair pulled his now soiled and wet shirt off and threw it in Henri's general direction. One of the uniformed officers at the scene gave Blair a quick wolf whistle, and Blair flipped him off.

"Good thing you don't have that Sentinel yet. You'd drive him out of the state with your smell."

Blair glared over at Henri, but the joker just smiled and headed for his car. Brown and Rafe had backed Blair up when the blackmailer wanted to meet his target at the track, but the case was Blair's and no one was going to stick around long enough to help with paperwork. Okay, technically the case was his and Elijah's, but Eli had been out with flu more often than he'd been in lately.

"So, how is it going with the request for a Sentinel?" Simon asked as he pulled a cigar out of his pocket.

"Still waiting for Ellison," Blair said as he aimed the nozzle to try and knock the worst mess off his pants.

"He's been in there a while."

"And he has test scores that are off the charts," Blair defended the man.

"It just worries me that they've kept him for over four months. I don't want a loose cannon in my department, Sandburg."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Ellison doesn't come close to being a loose cannon."

"Blair, you keep forgetting that he killed a man."

"Simon, what would you do if Peter in Narcotics got hurt or, god-forbid, died? Would you try to cuff Dana? Would you try to physically restrain her?"

"Hell no. I'd be hiding in a tree waiting for your old boss in the Sentinel squad to tranq her."

"Good thing too because everyone has a breaking point. Hell, how many times has some family member who wasn't a Sentinel attacked you when you delivered news of a murder or told them something they didn't want to hear?"

"Plenty," Simon agreed sadly. "And I understand that there are times, like in the case of a bondmate's death, when a Sentinel deserves a little slack. Hell, I think I'd hide in the tree even if it was Dana dead and Peter on the loose."

"Simon, Jim was suffering from a broken bond when a guard went against regulations and opened the cell to check on Ellison. Ellison tried to just get away, and the guard started a physical confrontation with an out of control Sentinel. Jim *still* blames himself for that guard's death. He thought he should go to prison for it; this is not a man who is going to run amuck in your department."

"I thought we already had this discussion. You already browbeat me into agreeing to take Ellison in," Simon growled.

"I'm just making sure you remember why," Blair shrugged.

"I just want you to remember your promise to take the first week slow and then have a serious discussion about whether he's going to work out in Major Crimes."

"I will, I will," Blair rushed to agree, "but you're going to be fine with him, Simon. When I blew my cover, I was alone in that loft with him, and the only thing he did was restrain me while he thought through his options."

"That was before four or five months in the SI. You don't know him now, and I really doubt he's going to be thrilled with belonging to the man who put his run to an end."

"Yeah." Blair turned the water off and considered that last bit. "I wish I could visit him or talk to him or something, but he still has himself on the no contact list. I just keep hoping that he'll remember that I truly wanted to help; maybe that'll be enough for him to give me a little trust. But it's going to be hard."

"And I'm telling you right now, Blair, I am *not* comfortable with having a chained man sitting in my squad room. Suspects are cuffed, the detectives investigating them sure as hell shouldn't be."

"No way. I will not bring him to work chained." Blair paused as he remembered his Sentinel-care class. He'd learned a few things he really didn't want to know. "Okay, the first few weeks, I have to bring him to work chained, but once we bond, you will never see those chains again."

"You're assuming he'll want to bond."

"He'll want out of the chains," Blair said softly, sure of that. "Besides, who can resist this body?" Blair asked as he opened his arms to show off his slimy, wet, manure-smeared glory. Simon snorted.

"So, if you don't get Ellison, are you going to try for another Sentinel?"

Blair stopped. He hadn't even thought past getting custody of Jim. The idea that someone else, someone who didn't understand Jim's need for independence, might get custody bothered him more than he could imagine.

"I'll worry about that if it happens," Blair shrugged as he started toward his car. He had a blanket in back he could spread over his seat. A quick trip home for a shower and then paperwork before dashing to his night class.

"Blair," Simon said behind him. Blair turned around.

"Most Sentinels, they aren't like your Ellison. The good ones learn to show some control because they don't want to disappoint their bondmates. The bad ones and the ones whose handlers don't have that much control over them... I won't have that in my division. I won't have suspects ending up dead and just sign off on the paperwork because it was a Sentinel thing."

Simon took a long drag on his cigar and studied Blair so long that Blair started to fidget. "If Ellison goes somewhere else, really think about this. If you bring some loose cannon into my department, if someone gets hurt because your Sentinel thinks he can do whatever he wants or because he knows you don't have the guts to discipline him, I will transfer your ass to Traffic. You'll be there for the two days it takes one of the other department chiefs to transfer you back out again," Simon admitted as he rolled his eyes, "but I'll transfer you and your Sentinel there just to make my point."

"Point, got it," Blair nodded before he turned back to his car. He'd get Jim. He had to get Jim. The alternative... well, the alternative was the thing that fueled his nightmares.

Jim heard his door open, and he stepped out of the shower.

"You're early," he said, drying himself off as he pushed the glass door back and greeted Sam.

"I have a new Sentinel, another retrieval."

"We seem to have a lot of adult Sentinels around here," Jim commented as he grabbed his chastity belt and lubed the plug. He'd learned to do it without thinking about it. If he turned his mind off, he wouldn't have that involuntary grimace that always made Sam look at him with concern.

"We specialize in retraining," Sam admitted. "I think it's because we're one of the largest Sentinel Institutes and we have such a wide range of classes. Any Sentinel can find something interesting to do. They ship retrieved and rescued Sentinels here from most of the west coast."

"And if there's nothing else to do, there are always video games," Jim pointed out. Alex had finally gone that route, striking out viciously, time after time after time. Even fully shackled, she'd attacked an employee. The cafeteria worker hadn't moved fast enough, and Alex had caught her around the neck with a wrist chain.

Jim had jumped into that fray, forcing Alex's hands away from the crying woman and pinning the Sentinel to the ground until guards had tranqed both of them. Jim had spend a week in restraints after that one, but the woman he'd saved had thanked him so much that Jim had become slightly embarrassed. Now Alex sat in her room playing video games and staring at the wall.

"I think we'd all like to avoid that."

"It'd drive me nuts," Jim admitted as he pushed the plug inside and then buckled the belt around his waist.

"That's because you have something to interest you. Another paper got filed today. That makes eighteen different officers from seven different departments who have filed for guardianship."

Jim paused, the belt half on. After a heart beat's time, he slipped the strap through the base of the plug and made one last check that everything was in place before he reached around and pushed the connector into the buckle, locking the chastity device in place.

"You're still not comfortable with the guardianship, are you?"

Jim walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He'd long ago figured out that Sam was the psychologist who was writing reports on whether he was prepared to go into the real world. With his plan shoved into a deep corner of his mind where it wouldn't lead him to make a stupid mistake, Jim had woven himself a new personality. He didn't hate being a Sentinel, he hated the idea of losing himself, his ability to help people, his ability to make a difference in the world. That was the motivation he allowed himself to feel as he hid his innate need for freedom from the man who had the power to keep him in the Institute literally forever. With a sigh, Jim turned around and leaned back against his sink.

"It's that word. When you talk about someone having guardianship or custody of me, I just can't get past the gut-level reaction. I feel like some kid, and I just feel like I'm never going to be taken seriously by someone who thinks of me like a child."

Jim didn't mention his specific discomfort with offer number one, the first to come in addressed to him specifically. The potential guardian wanted a Sentinel who would work in the Major Crimes division of Cascade PD, and had to have skills in a wide range of police investigative techniques. What had really caught his attention was the second part. The guardian also worked in anthropology and wanted a Sentinel with a high level of control who could help observe people in natural settings without becoming bored. It had to be Blair. Jim wondered if his capture had earned Blair that promotion to Major Crimes. He could feel anger wrap around his spine. The little shit caught a promotion while he was in here with plastic shoved up his ass, and now the little shit wanted custody of Jim. Part of Jim knew that wasn't entirely accurate, but the offer had shocked him.

"No one who ever met you would think of you as a child," Sam laughed, and Jim figured that meant he had successfully hidden his darker feelings. "You scared the crap out of me that first day."

Jim crossed his arms. "You're kidding. You didn't smell like fear at all."

"The soap they use at intake tends to depress the smell. And it was a good thing because my fear could have pushed you right over an edge."

"I was frustrated," Jim nodded. "After I'd run so long, I didn't think anyone would ever trust me out there. No matter what you said, I thought I was going to spend my whole life in here, die in here without ever getting to do anything that mattered ever again."

"You want to be out there," Sam prodded.

"Yeah. I want to do something more important than just take classes. When I took Alex down and saved that woman, that felt right," Jim paused. He'd learned to weave as much truth into his stories as he could, and sometimes he feared that the truth and the manipulations were blending even in his own mind. "I used my sense of touch to feel where she would shift her weight in the fight. I could hear her heart. I could almost taste her..." Jim paused, "her anger, maybe."

"And you liked that?"

"I liked feeling like the senses were more than some cosmic joke, I liked saving that woman. These classes, they're fine, but it's not like me taking a class is doing any good."

"It's preparing you for the real world."

"Which is where the real world part comes in. I want to actually do something with the senses."

"Which brings us back to the issue of guardianship."

Jim fought to keep his expression neutral. "I'm working on it," Jim said.

"And I'm impressed, Jim, I really am. When you go out there, though, you may have another difficult adjustment."

"Yeah," Jim said softly, "I know. In here, everyone understands, but I remember how some people would point and stare at Sentinels, how they would slowly slide away the minute they saw the collar."

"And others will talk your ear off and treat you like a hero even when they have no idea who you are."

Jim suppressed his own dislike of that reaction as well. People who had either reaction were trying to erase some part of Jim and replace him with a generic "Sentinel." Sentinels were brave or Sentinels were creepy, and both reactions denied the reality that Jim wasn't just some random Sentinel.

"I don't want people to look at me and see some freak, but I know I'll have to deal with that. If I'm working with officers who respect what I can do and victims I can really help, that's going to go a long way toward making this easier. I'll adapt; I'm nothing if not adaptable." Jim finally answered.

"You'll have to work in restraints until you bond."

"No biggie," Jim shrugged. "Hey, I ask for restraints when I have one of the Troll's classes. I even asked you to anchor the restraints that one day that he was really bugging me."

"And I'm proud of you for that. Truitt really shouldn't be working with Sentinels given his antagonistic attitude, but not many people will teach a hand-to-hand self defense class for Sentinels."

Jim shrugged. "I have to learn to deal with that once I get back out there in the world anyway. Any word on whether or not the guys upstairs will let me teach one of those self-defense courses?"

"You certainly have the training for it, the military sent over your records, and they're impressive. No wonder Truitt can't take you down, and you do know he'd go easier on you if you didn't put him on his back every single lesson, right?"

"Yeah," Jim smiled. "I know. But the restraints make it easier. When he picks on a man who's chained up, it just makes him look like a petty bully, which he is. That's revenge enough. I take it from the subject change that you're still getting the run around."

Sam laughed. "You're like a dog with a bone, Jim. And yes, I'm getting the no-answer answer every time I bring it up. The idea of two Sentinels fighting just worries a lot of people. You've asked about it every day this week, why is this so important to you?"

Jim walked over to the bed and picked up his shirt, slipping it on before he answered. "I guess I just like the thought that I'm actually doing something real. I've learned a lot about using my senses in the field, but most of these classes are information that I've already learned. I was in the military for 15 years, I know this stuff."

"And you want to have some sort of impact."

"I don't want to take any more classes just so I can get a score on the jacket of my file. Maybe if there were some more challenging courses. Anything new coming out soon?" Jim asked as he slipped into his pants.

"Not that I know of. Maybe we can whip up something a little more challenging than normal. Okay, do you need anything else?"

"Nah, no Troll today, so I'm good without restraints," Jim shrugged.

"Maybe you should do a few day's practice in full restraints. Sometimes in the field the conditions are overwhelming... a murdered child, a brutal gang rape. And if you can't move and work in restraints, you aren't much good on that kind of scene."

Jim looked at Sam in confusion for a second, and then he slowly started to smile. "Are you trying to tell me something?" The niggling hope starting to grow in his chest made even the thought of working in chains bearable.

"No promises, but at this month's review, my recommendation is that you be placed with the understanding that the transition might be difficult and your first guardian might not be permanent. It would help your case if the committee saw you were cooperative and willing to work in restraints."

"If it meant getting to track real criminals or real drugs, I would work in restraints for the rest of my life. I'm ready to not see you and these same four walls every single morning."

"Aren't you the sweet talker?" Sam asked sarcastically as he stepped closer. Jim turned around so Sam could check the connector on the chastity belt.

"No offense, but I would rather we were better strangers."

"Shakespeare?" Sam asked as he tugged the belt and then stepped back. Jim tied the drawstring before going back to the cupboard and getting the restraints.

"Yeah, I just don't remember which play. I'd ask for a copy of Shakespeare, but hopefully, I won't be here long enough to read it. Since I might be getting out of here, I definitely need to practice the restraints. That week after Alex, I almost broke my neck a couple of times when I forgot how to move with them on. Maybe I should take another class like the FBI one, the field work with full restraints. Anything coming up?"

"I can check." Sam put out his hand, and Jim handed the two sets of chains over before offering his wrists. Sam locked the shackles around Jim's wrists, and Jim moved his hands up and hooked the wrist chain over the back of his own neck as he'd been taught. It meant that Jim couldn't quickly bring his hands down in an attack as Sam locked the ankle restraints in place.

"We haven't worked with the center chain much lately, but your guardian or the supervisors at the half-way house may want to make sure that you aren't tempted to run, especially given your reputation, so let's use that as well."

Jim went back to the white cabinet, focusing his breathing on some calm blue center and not his frustration. They monitored his vitals any time Nunez was in with him, and Jim couldn't allow the least slip at this point. He pulled out the belt and long chain, and shuffled back to Sam to offer it to him.

Sam took the restraints, and Jim hooked his wrist chain around the back of his neck again as the handler locked the wide belt over Jim's shirt. The longer chain went down to the center of the chain between the ankle restraints.

"Wrists," Sam asked. Jim slowly brought his hands down and waited as Sam threaded the long center chain through a loop at the front of the belt and then locked to the wrist chains. If Jim kept his hands at his stomach, he could walk with his normal shuffle he used when restrained. If he sat or crouched, he would have a fair amount of movement with his hands.

Sam stood up. "So, are you good for the day?"

"Yeah. I'll be back about six if you'll be around to unlock everything." Jim just prayed that he didn't need to ask to use the bathroom because the classroom guards would not remove the wrist restraints. Jim would suffer through the cramps before going through that again.

"No problem. New Sentinels usually want to spend quite a bit of time in their own quarters," Sam offered.

"What? You don't expect them to blackmail you into letting them take a class on day one?" Jim teased. Some voice in that dark corner of the mind where he'd hidden so much of who he used to be sneered.

"I'm not expecting it, but then again, I've been surprised before."

"See you later, Sam," Jim said as he walked carefully toward the door. On the way past his table, he grabbed a book on criminal profiling.

"Have a good day," Sam called back. Jim left Sam and the quarters behind as he headed for the insulated classroom wing. He'd already grabbed fruit for breakfast, and he wanted some alone time before the instructor showed up.

"Hey, Jim," one of the younger Sentinels called. Jim turned to find four boys closing in on him. He stopped and leaned against the wall.

"Guys."

"What's up?" one asked, looking at the chains. Jim fought down the normal frustration he felt at having people see him chained up like an animal. They might think it was normal, but Jim sure as hell didn't.

"Doing some practice. I might be up for release next month, and it's been a while since I worked in the chains."

"Aren't you going to bond right away?" the shortest boy asked. Jim thought his name was Teeg, but he wasn't sure. So many of the young ones came and left in a month, grabbing the few required courses and heading out into the world. Jim, on the other hand, had been here nearly five months now. He felt like the old war-torn veteran. Hell, the kids sure as hell looked at him that way.

"Do you really want to bond before you know someone?" Jim asked gently.

"But the judge would make sure they were safe. My mom says that it's best to bond quickly and start building a life."

Jim shook his head. "Not everyone is as good as they look on paper. When you've bonded..." Jim paused, searching for a way to describe how it had been with Incacha. The boys considered him with something close to worship. "It's hard to tell where they stop and you start. You want what they want, but if you don't know the guardian before you bond, you'll never know if they're the kind of person who you *want* to have that kind of power over you."

The dark-haired boy snorted. "They have power over us anyway," he pointed out sarcastically. Jim smiled, he liked this kid.

"No, they have power over your body. Your senses... your bonding, that's yours. So take the time to get a few extra classes, try out a guardian or two until you find one you really like, and then bond," Jim advised them.

"I hear you have fourteen offers," Teeg said, his voice all wonder and admiration, with the same enthusiasm Jim had once talked about college acceptance letters with his high-school friends. For them, fourteen choices was incredible, but Jim still couldn't help comparing it to the world full of choices he'd once had.

"It's eighteen now."

"Eighteen," one of the previously silent boys whispered in awe. "Maybe I'll stay around and take more classes. I only have two offers."

"Take classes as long as you think you have something to learn or until you get an offer you really want," Jim advised, and the boy nodded.

"Yeah, but taking classes means no sex, and I am ready to be done with this thing," complained the rabble-rouser that Jim had already decided he liked. The kid poked a finger toward his locked up crotch.

"It's called a shower, a little soap, and five fingers. Get used to it," Jim suggested with a shake of his head. Of course the boys cared more about sex than life, they were teen aged boys. The boys blushed as they caught Jim's meaning. "I have to do a little studying," he excused himself. He turned back toward the classroom, the chains rattling as he shuffled forward awkwardly. He really had forgotten how to deal with the full shackles.

Jim reached his first classroom a good hour before the class began. Sitting on one of the wide comfortable couches, Jim pulled his feet on the seat to give his hands as much movement as possible. In the privacy of the unmonitored room, Jim opened the book so he would look like he was studying as he allowed his rage to flow through him.

His heart pounded heavily and his eyes stung as he pulled on the chains. Fucking assholes. The words on the page blurred, but Jim had read them last night anyway. He was so close. Jim struggled with the rage his new hope inspired.

Weeks, maybe days, and yet suddenly that seemed so fucking long. Make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape. Nunez was on his side, arguing for him. He'd gained a good twenty pounds of muscle in the last four months, so he was back in fighting shape, and he knew more about local police procedures and ways to control his senses in the field. The plan was working, but now that he was so close to the end, Jim could feel the frustration claw at him. He focused on the reviewing gains he'd made, and not how far he still had to go.

Letting his head fall back, he stared at the white ceiling for a second before closing his eyes. He forced his real feelings back into the dark corners of his mind and repaired the woven image of the good little tamed Sentinel reading his book so he could grow up and get himself a good guardian. Jim allowed himself one last fantasy of a wrecking ball tearing this whole place down before he focused on the book and the renewed hope for escape.

EIGHT  
***  
Jim sat in the comfortable chair, fingering the links of the chain. The clothes felt strange against his skin after five months of the Sentinel Institute uniform, which felt more like pajamas than anything else. Now the waistband of the simple pants irritated him, and somehow, Jim didn't think that was a coincidence. In fact, sitting in the isolated room with two other Sentinels, both of whom were fairly wild-eyed, Jim realized that the SI had reduced the stimulus so much that Sentinels coming out were damn near dysfunctional.

Oh, they'd been trained to function in the field, but now, with no task at hand, sitting chained to a chair jangled all Jim's nerves. Even through the soundproofing on the room, he could hear something heavy hit the floor above them, and the young, male Sentinel jumped.

The guard at the door shifted nervously, and Jim leaned forward as far as he could with the chain across his lap.

"Hey, Tony," Jim called softly, and the young man looked over with wide eyes. "Come on, just focus on me for a second here, Chief."

Tony blinked, and then Jim could see him truly focus on Jim instead of struggling to hear something just beyond range, at least for him. Jim could clearly hear the cursing as someone complained about the mess, so someone had dropped something.

"Yeah, it's just..." Tony started.

"I know. It's not like the Institute," Jim nodded. After five months of white noise generators and water dripping down into pools and dim lights and soft pajamas, even his senses were playing tricks. The kid didn't have much of a chance at control, and the female Sentinel, even though she was a little older, didn't look like she was having much more luck.

"Yeah," Tony breathed.

"Tony, listen for the heartbeats in the room," Jim counseled him. Tony looked at him for a second, and then he closed his eyes as he did what Jim said. His head started moving back and forth in time with one of the patterns.

"Isolate which heartbeat comes from which of us," Jim suggested, using the technique he'd learned from one of the FBI courses on overcoming sensory overload. Listening for something and dismissing all other stimulus worked far better than trying to filter out some disabling sound. When Jim glanced over to the second Sentinel, she had her eyes closed and was clearly following the same instruction.

"Focus on those heartbeats. Three of us, one guard. Don't stop until you can feel each one distinctly."

The woman's eyes popped open. "You have a heart murmur," she said to the guard. The man started.

"What?"

"A heart murmur. I can hear it. The blood is backing up into the heart; it doesn't sound right."

"Uh..." The guard stood, looking from the woman to Jim and down to his chest. Jim focused his own hearing toward the guard, who was starting to look a little pale. He could hear the steady beat, and he let himself focus on that until the sound cocooned him.

"I can hear it, too," Jim said. "I don't know if it's a murmur, but I can hear something that isn't in our heartbeats."

"I... Maybe I should call for someone," the guard reached for his radio. It wasn't exactly what Jim had in mind with the meditation exercise, but at least Tony was focusing on the sudden drama in the room and not on the distant sounds of the courthouse.

The first guard had been joined by three others, complete with tranq guns before someone finally figured out why the man had called for back up. In the middle of the drama, guard number five showed up with a clipboard.

"James Joseph Ellison?" he asked from the door as he looked from the guards to the three Sentinels.

"That's me," Jim offered with a small wave of his hand. The chain over his lap kept him from doing more.

"The judge is ready for you." Ignoring the other guards who were radioing a supervisor and trying to figure out how to get guard number one to the hospital to see his doctor, he reached over and unlocked the chain across Jim's lap.

The female Sentinel kept trying to tell them that it wasn't serious, and Tony watched with glee, his eyes darting from one person to the other.

"Thanks," Jim said as his guard got a hand under Jim's arm and helped him to his feet. In full restraints, the deep, cushioned chairs were sometimes difficult to get out of.

"You're welcome," he said as he divided his attention between Jim and the fuss.

"Baker, you okay?" Jim's guard asked.

"Okay? I have a heart murmur. Fuck. I can't believe this is happening to me."

"It's not serious. It's a small one, you don't need to panic," the woman desperately tried to reassure him.

Jim followed his guard out of the room. "Well, that was fun," he commented to no one in particular as they walked slowly down a private hallway.

"Fun?" the guard asked, his gaze slipping over to Jim before focusing on the hall again.

"It was downright boring in there until the nurse heard that murmur."

"It's supposed to be boring in there," the guard pointed out. He stopped in front of a double door. "The judge normally sees Sentinels in chambers, but they just painted in there, and she doesn't want you to have to sit in the fumes. Are you going to be okay in open court?" the guard asked seriously.

Five months ago, Jim would have rolled his eyes at the question. Five months ago he could walk through an open airport with screaming children and grandmothers who wore gallons of perfume. Now, Jim hesitated.

"I think so," he finally managed. The guard didn't look reassured.

"I'm not going to go berserk on you, but I can't promise I won't zone on something or have a spike," Jim clarified. The guard nodded.

"If you have trouble, let me know right away, and I'll get you back here as fast as I can," he offered.

"Thanks," Jim said as the guard pushed the doors open. The sound of voices, all competing, and the smell of bodies and the faint scent of paint and the sharp, chemical stink of perfume all hit Jim at once. He staggered back a step, his movements cut short by the restraints as he instinctively brought his hands up, nearly yanking his own feet out from under him.

The guard stepped back with him, half closing the door as Jim blinked. No way was Jim going in there with tears in his eyes.

"Give me a sec," Jim asked as he crouched down so that he could bring his hands up to his eyes and wipe away the tears caused by the sudden smells. "Any chance you could open that a little slower?"

The guard hesitated. "Yeah, no problem," he finally agreed as he slowly opened the door. Jim struggled to dial down scent and focus his hearing on his own heartbeat and not the hundreds of conversations stretching through the various hallways and courtrooms. Clenching his jaw, Jim slowly stood and faced the real world.

Fuck, this was definitely going to slow down the plan. Jim silently cursed Nunez and Sandburg and every other sick fuck who'd dumped him in the Institute for over five months. He'd controlled himself for over twenty years, but five months in that sanitized hell and he couldn't even face a courthouse. Well, he'd get his control back.

"You ready?" the guard asked quietly.

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Jim said stoically. He walked forward with the guard.

For the first time, he faced the world with a collar on. He could feel the heat in his cheeks as mothers and criminals and kids hanging on their parents all watched him shuffle through the hall in shackles.

The guard opened a door to one courtroom, and Jim followed meekly. The room was almost empty, just a couple of random spectators. A woman with glasses perched on the top of her head stood up.

"James?" she asked.

"Jim."

"I'm Steph Bennett, your social worker. I just wanted to introduce myself. You've been assigned to the Oak Street halfway house if you stay in town, which has an excellent reputation, and depending on who the judge assigns, I'll have you in the house with your guardian within the day. If you're going out of town, I already have transportation arranged."

"Thanks," Jim said absentmindedly as he listened to a woman in another room plead with her husband to just let something drop... to not testify. A kid screamed, and Jim tensed until the childlike laughter followed immediately after.

The guard pulled on his arm, and Jim let himself be led up to one of tables in front of the judge's bench. The judge was an older woman with gray hair and a horse face.

"James Joseph Ellison," the guard announced. The judge looked up and smiled.

"Thank you Roy. Now Sentinel Ellison, have you been given copies of all twenty-six requests for guardianship?" she asked.

"Yes, your honor," Jim said easily. He'd learned acting skills in the last five months that should have qualified him for an Academy award.

"Have you been given the opportunity to contact anyone and request a specific guardian ad litem?"

"Yes, your honor."

"And did you contact anyone?"

"No, your honor."

"I see here that your father, William Ellison lives in Cascade. Is there a reason why you aren't asking him to take custody? No compatible work interests?"

Jim gritted his teeth. "He's in business, and I would prefer law enforcement, your honor," Jim answered. The real truth was something colder, something about his father's furious face ordering him to hide this nonsense with his senses because no Ellison was a freak. The only upside to this whole experience was knowing that William Ellison couldn't hide his freak of a son anymore. Jim hoped all his father's golf buddies asked him about it every damn time the son of a bitch played a round.

"Just as well. You're certainly old enough to be thinking about a bondmate," the judge agreed easily, and Jim twitched at the idea of a judge thinking she had any say on that issue. They could demand a lot of him, but not that. "Twenty-six requests, all from law enforcement. I think that's a record. Two requests are from the military, and legally I need you to state a position on going back into the service."

"I don't want to," Jim said quietly.

"Any reason why?"

God-forbid that she just allow him to just make a choice. Jim considered his answer. If he wanted his plan to work, he needed to convince this judge to choose the guardian he wanted, and that meant convincing her that he was rational enough to be trusted to make a few choices.

"Military personnel are trained to have certain reactions. The man I killed..." Jim paused. He could see the guard go stiff. "We were both trained to react to perceived threats. His training led him to attack until I couldn't control my reaction, and I don't want to be in that situation again," Jim finished. He hated that story more than any of the other lies he told, but it was the party line. He was just one more Sentinel so ruled by instinct that he couldn't control himself.

"I read that report. I can't see that you had any blame in the matter, but if you aren't comfortable working in the service, that's your legal right." The judge took two files and set them to the side. "Any other requests? You seem to have twenty-four offers left."

"I want to stay in Cascade. I grew up around here, your honor." That would keep Jim from getting shipped off to Houston. Not only was that on the opposite side of the country from his Canadian goal, but he had more than a few bad memories of the town. And yet, there were no fewer than fourteen requests from the city. Houston must be seriously short of Sentinels.

The judge sorted more files. "Cascade the city, or would the surrounding towns work for you?"

Jim paused. Cities were more impersonal. If he could slip his leash, he had a better chance to lose himself in Cascade, but small towns often couldn't afford the security. Six of one, half dozen of another. "If the town is close to here, that might work," Jim finally said. He just needed to be close to the transportation grid.

The judge sorted more. "Well, you have seven offers from the Cascade police department. Surely we can find a fit in Cascade if that's what you prefer. Any other requests?"

Jim paused, he had to phrase this one right. He remembered his gut-level reaction to Sandburg--the way he'd trusted the little shit, and how that trust had been betrayed. And yet, at the end, he still remembered a warm hand resting on him. He couldn't afford to get attached. "I'm not sure I'm ready for something too stressful, homicides or major crimes. I've been out of the world for five months, and I don't want something that... important relying on my senses," Jim said carefully. The judge looked up at him.

"That's an unusual request, especially considering your test scores. The FBI even put in a request, so your abilities are not in question."

"Your honor," Jim said carefully, "If the detective is young, we can move up into the more important departments together. But I'm also not convinced I'll be able to bond right away."

"Gender specific? We have both male and female applicants here, so I can certainly accommodate any preferences," she said as she leaned her chin on her hand and studied Jim.

"I had a bondmate," Jim said. It was true, even if these people might not have recognized the relationship he shared with Incacha as bondmates. Jim knew the truth, and the medical records would show that he had a broken-bond reaction after being brought back to the states, and that's all they needed to know.

"Male or female?" the judge asked.

"Male. But I don't know if I can... Your honor, having had a bond break, I'm not sure whether I can open myself up like that again. And without a bond, the more difficult work in homicide and major crimes... it would be hard on me," Jim went for her pity even though it made him ill to pretend weakness. The simple fact was that he would bond again over his dead body, but saying that in court was a one-way ticket back to the SI. "I just need some time to decide if I can bond and if I want to bond with my guardian."

"You're certainly very articulate about your concerns, and I thank you for that. Two offers, one from Keith Walker in burglary and one from Jack Liu who works a neighborhood patrol, both fit your requirements. Neither is a request for you specifically, but I think they'd be thrilled to have someone with these test scores. Any preference?"

"No, your honor," Jim answered. The officers were low on the totem pole, but aggressive enough to want a Sentinel. It suggested they were young, and young meant more easily manipulated.

"Both have sterling records. Eeney meeny miny mo." The judge balanced the two files playfully, and Jim clenched his fists around the chains that reminded him that he didn't have control here so he couldn't call her a bitch for making light out of choosing his life for him.

"I think Mr. Walker is going to be the winner. Your talents are just too impressive for a patrol officer. And with your help, maybe Mr. Walker can move into a more critical area as soon as you two are comfortable with each other. Ms. Bennett," the judge turned her attention to the social worker in the audience, "do you have housing arranged?"

"Oak Street."

"Excellent. Roy, can you take Sentinel Ellison down to transportation while Ms. Bennett contacts Keith Walker and lets him know he's our winner?"

"Yes, your honor," the guard answered, his hand closing around Jim's arm, only this time he held on a little tighter. The story of Jim killing a guard obviously impressed him because on the way down the hall and to the Sentinel approved van, he didn't speak. He kept one hand on Jim's arm, and the other on his stun gun. Oddly, it felt good to have someone afraid of him, Jim realized as he climbed into the van for his trip to his new home.

"Blair?" a voice called. Blair blinked up blearily and then let his head drop back down to the table.

"Blair, all your hair is going to stick to that table if you don't sit up." Hands brushed the hair back out of Blair's face, and Blair managed to get an eye half open.

"I suck," he announced.

"You've sucked down beers all night, that's for sure," Carolyn answered. She picked up a glass and sniffed at it. "And the hard stuff. Blair, what is with you?"

Blair squirmed into a more comfortable position. At some point his ass had ended up right on the crack in the vinyl of the booth's bench. "I so totally suck," he repeated to the stunner who led the Forensics team.

"Let's get you home." Carolyn got a hand under Blair's arm and pulled him up. Blair managed to get his legs under him, but then he lost all balance and stumbled into the wall, knocking off a picture of a beer bottle. Carolyn grappled with him.

"Blair!" she cried.

"I got him," a deeper voice answered. Blair looked up into Simon's lopsided face.

"You're lopsided," Blair announced seriously. Simon reached down and settled Blair's glasses on his nose. "You're black," Blair corrected himself since Simon wasn't lopsided any more.

"Yes, Sandburg, I'm black. Thank you for the update."

"What got into him?" Carolyn asked as she took his other side. Blair pulled his legs up, amused at the way they dangled between the two sets of hands holding him up, but then all three of them started tumbling right.

"Sandburg, damn it! Walk!" Simon snapped.

"Walk on by, walk on by, make believe that you don't see the tears," Blair sang unevenly as he brought his feet down to earth. "They stole my Sentinel. Only he's not my Sentinel because possessives are like... possessive, and possession is very wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong."

"His Sentinel?" Carolyn asked.

"Don't go there," Simon warned. "Sandburg, you are about two inches from going on report."

"Not on duty!" Blair sing-song before breaking out into warbling song. "And walk on by. Don't stop. And walk on by. Dddon't stop. And walk on by." His words deteriorated into a hum.

"This is a side of you I never wanted to see," Simon said and then muggy Cascade air made Blair blink his eyes open again.

"Simon car. Car of Simon." Blair let his hand slap the top as Carolyn let go of one side.

"You throw up in here, and I will transfer you to Traffic so fast you'll still have the hangover when you're writing your first ticket."

"Should lock me up. Bad bad bad bad bad. So very very very very bad badbadbabababaa." Blair's words trailed off as he lost the ability to say the word bad.

"So very, very drunk," Carolyn corrected him. Blair smiled at her. "Pretty lady," he mouthed.

"God, he runs that charm even drunk," Simon snorted. "Plummer's pretty, I'm black, and you're bad. We got it."

"I wanted to fix just one. He who save the universe save th'... universe. No. Whoever saves a world, saves a life." Blair shook his head as Carolyn opened the car door. Simon pulled him away from the car and dumped him on the front seat. "No no no."

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm taking you home and pouring you into bed."

Blair waved his hand dismissively at that. "He who saves a life, saves a universe?"

"Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire," Carolyn supplied. Blair smiled widely.

"Pretty lady."

"Oh god." Simon slammed the door. Blair poked at the window as Simon came around to the driver's side.

"Didn't save the world, Simon," Blair said sadly. The world in question lurched, and Blair grabbed at his seatbelt. When did he put that on?

"You'll save it tomorrow, kid."

"Nope. World doesn't want to be saved. World doesn't think I'll save him. World thinks I'm bad bad badbadbad."

"Enough," Simon interrupted. "Blair, just let it go."

"Wake me up before you go-go."

"Oh god, it's like karaoke hell," Simon groaned as he drove a little faster toward Blair's loft.

NINE  
***  
"Jim, you have that Westside file?" Keith called from the hall. Jim rolled his eyes.

"I did before you 'borrowed' it and left it somewhere, Sport," Jim pointed out. He sat back in his chair at the edge of Keith's desk. At the next desk, Doug Turner snorted a laugh.

"I just had it," Keith complained as he came around the corner into Burglary. His short dark hair stood up in uneven spikes, meaning he'd been scrubbing it in frustration. By the time he was as old as Jim, he wasn't going to have any hair left at all..

"And you just lost it, like usual," Doug teased. "Jim, this is why he got a Sentinel. To hell with needing someone to track down the criminals, he just needs somebody to backtrack him and find his damn paperwork."

"Very funny, Turner," Keith complained.

"I'll find it," Jim said with a sigh as he stood up and focused his scent. After nearly a month, he should have known better than to give the kid the file and let him wander off. Keith reminded Jim of one of the recruits he'd known back when he'd done a stint training recruits in Florida. They both had flashes of brilliance interrupted with periods of intense absent-mindedness. The recruit had done a lot of push ups before he had learned to keep track of his own shit. Jim wasn't sure how to break Keith of this habit since he sure wasn't going to be ordering Keith to drop and give him fifty.

"Thanks Jim," Keith said, Sentinel-quiet, and Jim gave the kid a quick eyeroll as he started out toward the restroom where he'd last seen Keith heading. Luckily, Jim had handled the file so he should be able to track his own scent on the paper.

As he walked, the chain from the ankle restraints dragged across the tile, the sound now as familiar as his own heartbeat. It only took five minutes to turn the corner into records. Behind the desk, Darlene held up a file in her hands. She had just transferred in from Central Precinct, and Jim ordered himself to give her a polite smile.

"I knew you'd come looking. Keith is going to forget his head somewhere one of these days," she joked, her free hand coming up and brushing her long, blonde hair back off a shoulder.

"One of these days," Jim agreed, ignoring the scent of her arousal.

"Here you go." She held the file up, and Jim reached for it with both hands. The chain between his hands didn't allow him a lot of freedom to move one hand without the other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. No problem at all," she answered, leaning forward on the desk. Jim nodded, and wondered, not for the first time, if she was attracted to him, his Sentinel status, or the chains. Until Jim bonded, he wouldn't get permission to sleep with anyone else, but that didn't seem to slow her down at all. Then again, maybe she was looking for someone unavailable, and Jim was definitely that.

"So, are you going to stick around, do you think?" she called after Jim as he reached the door. Jim glanced back at her.

"Walker's a good man," he answered ambiguously. He had heard the chatter at the station about Walker getting such a high-level Sentinel. The gossip was split between Walker getting moved up and maybe even transferred to Central Precinct and Jim requesting a new guardian. But every day that Jim showed up in restraints because he hadn't bonded, the gossip started shifting toward the idea that Jim would choose to move on to a detective with more experience and status. Jim knew Keith worried about it, but the man stayed silent.

Darlene started to say something else, but Jim left, heading into the hall. A witness retreated to the side of the hall, his eyes wide as Jim passed, and Jim tightened his jaw.

"Look familiar?" Jim asked as he came back into Burglary, the file held up. He stopped at the sight of a curly-haired cop sitting in the witness chair in front of Keith's desk, a backpack over one shoulder. Jim lowered the file.

"Sandburg," he said carefully.

"Jim. Hey," the kid said as he twisted around to look at Jim. He still had the wide, tragic eyes Jim remembered from the day of his arrest, or retrieval, rather.

"Thank god. Where did I leave it?" Keith asked as he came forward and held out a hand. Jim surrendered the file.

"Records."

"Oh yeah, shit, I meant to tell you. These recent thefts of copper wiring... there was a case six or seven years ago linked to a construction company. It was before I was even on the force. I went over to Records to try and pull the files, but I can't remember the name of the company involved."

"Really," Jim said as he continued to focus on Blair Sandburg.

"You remember Detective Sandburg?" Keith asked as he finally noticed Jim's distraction. He nervously crossed his arms and slid forward so that he was between Jim and Blair. Jim blinked and forced himself to relax. Keith wasn't normally nervous and had even argued with the Oak Street supervisor to leave off the central chain, so Jim figured he was giving off a lot of hostile signals for Keith to get worried.

"Yeah, I remember," Jim agreed coldly. Blair flinched.

"He's doing some work on Sentinels and I said he could interview you."

Jim looked sharply toward Keith, and then closed his fist around the chain. Right. Keith meant well and was a decent guy, but Jim couldn't ever let himself forget that Keith didn't see him as an equal, someone to actually ask before volunteering Jim's time to some neo-hippy punk.

"Okay," Jim said carefully.

"Do you need the..." Keith waved toward Jim's shackles. Keith had the central chain in his desk.

"Keith, I'm fine," Jim reassured the kid. Worried brown eyes looked at him as Keith tried to decide whether he should take Jim's word on that.

"Blair's a decent man. I think he did a shitty thing, but then you annoy me every morning with your inability to keep your crap off the floor and I haven't clocked you yet," Jim joked. Keith laughed, the stress falling away as he headed back to his desk.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You do know you're anal, right?"

"I know I can find my shit," Jim answered. "At least, I can when you don't throw a dirty towel on top of it."

"Someone has your number, Walker," Doug added from his own desk. "I'm telling you, Jim, before you came along, we found his crap from one end of this building to the other. If he wasn't so damn good as a detective, the Cap would have busted him back down to patrol."

"If you two are done ripping on me, Blair wanted some information for his dissertation. Do you want me to tag along?" Keith asked.

"Run down your construction company lead. If you find any suspects, we can do some snooping this afternoon," Jim said. "Blair and I can use one of the interrogation rooms for our chat."

Keith nodded, his mind already running ahead to the potential leads. One day he was going to be a frighteningly good detective. Right now, he was just scattered enough to be useful to Jim. "Come on, Sandburg," Jim said as he headed out into the hall.

Jim walked to an interrogation room, standing beside the door and waiting for Blair to go in first.

"So, you got promoted," Jim said as he followed the detective in. Blair had backed up to a corner and crossed his arms. Jim could smell the distress starting to flavor the air.

"Sorta," Blair agreed. Jim could hear the lie immediately.

"You aren't as good at lying anymore," Jim commented as he swung the door closed. "So, since Keith volunteered me for this, let's get it over. What do you want?"

"I..." Blair had been looking at the floor, and now he glanced up. Jim waited.

"Oh man, this is really hard. I suppose someone's out there monitoring us, huh?" Blair asked, suddenly changing the subject. Fear now tinted the distress. Jim started dialing down scent.

"Chief, what's up with you?" Jim asked. Yeah, he could be a hard ass, but the kid hadn't been afraid of him before, and now Jim was chained and they were in the middle of a police station. Blair's eyes kept darting over to the mirror. "There isn't anyone back there," Jim assured him. He moved closer and sat at the table. If the kid was freaking out, towering over him wasn't going to make him feel any better.

"I tried to get custody, you know," he whispered.

"Yeah, I got the offer."

"And you weren't too thrilled with the idea of me getting custody."

"Not really."

"I wouldn't have done it again. Oh man, I'm..." Blair stopped, and then he took a deep breath and looked right at Jim. "I fucked up."

"Really? From here it seems like you're pretty damn good at what you do," Jim said as he raised his shackled hands. "You certainly got the job done when no one else could." He gave the chain a nice hard yank.

Blair flinched. "Okay, I deserved that. I totally deserved that," Blair nodded, the scent of distress intensifying until it tickled Jim's nose and gave him that feeling like he was about to sneeze.

"What do you deserve?" Jim asked, leaning back in the chair.

"Pretty much anything you want to do to me since it's my fault you're sitting there in chains."

Jim cocked his head and considered the detective. "You've had a change of heart."

Blair nodded. "Hell, yeah. It's why I had to leave Sentinel division."

"It wasn't a promotion." This was definitely a surprise, but Jim would take any advantage he could find.

"Totally not. It was transfer or lose my job," Blair admitted. "And I guess I just wanted to see if you're okay."

"You wanted absolution," Jim said as he suddenly realized why Blair was so distressed.

"Okay, maybe," Blair admitted.

"You acted like a shit," Jim said instead of offering forgiveness. Guilt was a fine-edged weapon, and Jim knew how to wield it.

"Yeah," Blair agreed, the misery floating from him in tendrils of scent that were so thick Jim could practically taste them. "And I really don't deserve forgiveness. But this thing..." Blair waved toward the room, and Jim had no idea what the kid was trying to go for. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

"Okay." Blair took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his backpack. "I wouldn't do it again. I wouldn't turn you in."

"Good for you," Jim commented without emotion. He wondered how far this guilt went.

"I asked for custody because I wouldn't have stopped you again," Blair said, and Jim blinked in surprise. All the thoughts of maneuvering Blair into a position to help Jim fled as Blair offered himself up.

"A cop in the middle of a station is offering to help me run?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Yes," Blair breathed, and Jim could hear the truth of it in the steady heartbeat.

"I don't believe you." He watched curiously as Blair processed the accusation. He flushed.

"Oh man, you're a Sentinel, you know I'm not lying," Blair said as he moved forward quickly, leaning his hands on the table and looking at Jim earnestly.

"You're the only person I've ever met who has a chance of tricking me, so I don't take that as proof," Jim countered. Blair collapsed into a chair on the far side of the table.

"I can't lie directly. You know that. I've never even tried to lie to you, so I'm telling you that if you want help escaping, if you request a transfer over to me in Major Crimes, I won't even try to fight you."

Blair's heart never faltered. Jim gave the kid credit for having balls.

"So, you get custody, and then you just let me get on a plane and head for Canada," he mused.

"Yeah."

"Small problem," Jim said thoughtfully as he pursed his lips. "Until I bond, I wear the restraints, and that order is from the head of Oak Street house. You couldn't take these off if you wanted to," Jim said as he lifted his hands.

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "So, we bond and then you can take off."

Jim looked at the kid incredulously. "Chief," he said slowly, as if speaking to someone mentally challenged, "if we bond, I can't run." Jim thrust away the thought of taking Blair with him, of bonding and not giving him up the way he'd given up Incacha.

"You got over the first bondmate," Blair argued.

"I wouldn't get twenty feet in the air before the pressure to return got to great," Jim pointed out.

"Okay, so I go with you to Canada and then we can do something to break the bond up there," Blair countered. "I mean, if I'm going to tank my career in law enforcement, I might as well go out with a bang." Jim blinked in surprise and took a second to gather his thoughts.

"You're just full of surprises there, Chief," Jim said. He stretched his senses and felt them settle in around Blair. Jim could see the color in the individual strands of hair, and the warm musk of Blair floated under the distress. Jim yanked his senses back and stood up so quickly that the chair skittered backwards across the tile. Blair jumped.

"I'd do it, Jim. I know I fucked up here, and I'm trying to make it right."

"Sometimes you can't fix your mistakes," Jim said as he thought of Richardson. "Sometimes you just have to learn to live with them."

"But we can fix this..." Blair said desperately.

"No, we can't," Jim barked as he set his jaw. Blair crossed his arms aggressively and stood up straight in the face of Jim's anger. Jim narrowed his eyes in fury. "Five months in there. Five fucking months. I couldn't walk through that airport right now without cringing in a corner and putting my hands over my ears," Jim snapped. "If that guard got in my face today, I don't know what I'd do!"

It was true. He still hadn't gotten his full control back. He didn't bother mentioning that when he'd first gone to the half-way house he'd had Keith walk the block with him every night, and every night he'd ended up a shivering mass until he could finally make the block without falling apart. It took over a week with Keith walking beside him every step of the way.

Now he was up to walking three blocks. He would leave Keith at the corner, and walk the street shackled and alone, some people smiling at him, others making rude comments loud enough for him to hear, and most ignoring him. He couldn't walk that airport now, but he'd be able to eventually. However, if he let himself fall into the sensory lull that Blair offered... if he let himself reach out for another bondmate, his days of running would end because Jim would never give up a bondmate, not if he had a choice.

"But the SI, it improves control." Blair sounded so damn confused, and Jim silently cursed the man's naiveté.

"It improved my ability to focus on something specific, but just walking... just dealing with the constant stream of sensory input every day... After five months of a carefully managed environment, I don't have half the control I once did," Jim admitted. "I couldn't run now if you bought me the ticket and drove me to the airport, and I won't risk everyone else's lives. Besides, aren't you the one who told me I could still have a life after the Institute?" Jim asked sarcastically. Blair flinched.

"So, this is permanent?" Blair asked quietly. Jim could hear the plea for forgiveness. He tightened his jaw against the urge to comfort the man.

Jim jerked the chains, making them rattle and snap. "Until I bond, yep," he agreed. Unfortunately, the longer he was at the half-way house, the more he realized that he just might have to do something drastic if he wanted any chance to escape. His movements were too monitored. Even if he overpowered Keith and cut the chains, he wouldn't have more than an hour or two before someone checked on him. And if he wanted to earn his freedom, he would have to steer clear of Detective Blair Sandburg.

"You're going to bond with Walker." Blair sounded lost.

"You have a better suggestion?" Jim asked coldly. He watched as Blair folded in on himself, his determination of a moment ago wilting. Jim sighed.

"Chief, you did what you thought was right. I just don't know what you want me to say about it. So, are we done?" he asked, tacitly looking for permission to leave. Blair slowly sat.

"I'm trying to make up for it," he answered.

"Can't turn back time."

"I really did need information for a paper, though. I'm writing something on the integration of Sentinels into various modern societies. Canada's system of rights for native Sentinels along with an automatic defense of Sentinel instinct as a legal claim really does result in more acts of violence, especially when you look at the statistics for the Sentinels who immigrated. No wonder they allow extradition now. But Russia's system has even lower rates of violence than we do. True, their Sentinels end up in some pretty scary prisons, but you did once tell me you'd rather go to prison than to the SI. I think the system I like most is the Finnish one. Limited rights, but more than here. Limited responsibility, but more legal liability than here."

Jim leaned back against the wall and looked at Blair in amusement. "You don't take no for an answer very well," he pointed out.

"Hey, I'm just talking about my research," Blair defended himself. "And you're the expert in Sentinels among the tribes of Peru, which is still a modern society despite the fact that they live a primitive lifestyle. And I really wanted to contrast the modern legal system against the traditional ways the Sentinel fit into daily life."

"You want me to talk about the Chopec," Jim said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Well, yeah. And after this, I might do something on the effects of managed environments on baseline control of senses because I don't think that anyone means for the SI to actually degrade a Sentinel's control over his senses. The whole point of the institution is to make sure every Sentinel has equal access to education on how to maintain control and take advantage of the legal rights offered--"

"No," Jim cut him off. He didn't feel like waiting until the kid ran out of breath or words. From the little he knew about him, that might take a long time.

"No?"

"I'm not talking about the Chopec with you," Jim said quietly. The tone would have sent most men into full retreat, but Blair got up and came around the table.

"Man, if we can just get people to talk about Sentinels and rights, maybe we can start changing the way people see them."

"Ease your guilty conscience with someone else. Go track down one of the other Sentinels you captured," Jim said as he turned to the door and opened it.

"Jim," Blair called, his voice cracking. Jim stood in the open door and looked at the man's raw pain. "God, Jim, I'm sorry."

Jim stood in the doorway, caught between two courses of action. He locked his jaw and pushed aside some innate sympathy that reacted to that pain. "Chief, you're a good man, and I appreciate what you're willing to do here, but just go home." Jim pulled the door closed and shuffled down the hall, back toward his legal guardian. The scent of distress followed him down the hall.

TEN  
**  
"Long damn day," Jim complained as they walked into the rooms they shared in the half-way house. The single bed in the front room had Jim's bedding. He walked over and dropped onto the bed. Keith collapsed onto the loveseat in front of the television.

"No joke. Jim, you were incredible. That guy had the drop on me."

"I'm not about to let you get yourself killed, Sport," Jim said as he pulled off his shoes. "And good work with tracking down that lead." Jim tucked the shoes under his bed. He now owned two pairs of shoes, six slacks, and seven low-necked shirts that showed off his collar. As a Sentinel, Jim got a stipend that depended on his guardian's base salary, but Keith controlled it. Jim wondered idly if Keith would buy him that copy of Shakespeare he'd felt like reading lately. Probably. Jim was just too damn stubborn to ask for it. So, until he earned his freedom, he'd live with two pairs of shoes, six slacks, and seven shirts. Well, that and various underwear. Jim had never before appreciated normal underwear as much as he did now.

"No walk tonight?" Keith asked as he stretched, his back popping. The kid had held up well enough through the arrest, but Jim could smell his adrenaline and distress, and he fought his own reaction to the near disaster. He should have known better than to check out a lead without backup, even if Keith didn't. The fact is they were both lucky.

"I don't think I have the energy for a walk. Could do with a beer," Jim answered. He waited to see how Keith would react.

"She's going to give me shit," he said, his face twisting into an exaggerated horror. Jim could imagine just how much shit the kid would get for asking for beers. Madame Battle-Ax, head of Oak Street house, had very particular ideas about Sentinels. Besides, she already didn't like Keith. She was the one who had battered Keith back in his battle to let Jim leave the house without chains.

"She sure is," Jim smiled evilly.

Keith shook his head. "Only because you saved my sorry ass today." He stood up and headed back out the door wearily.

Jim pulled his shirt off and headed for the bathroom. Certain things Keith could get him, like a beer, maybe, but if Jim wanted more freedom, he had to risk everything.

Jim turned the shower on and let the steam warm the room as he pulled off his pants and tossed them in the hamper. Sentinel biology class went over bonding. Sex overwhelmed a Sentinel's senses, flooding the system with so many endorphins and so much input that the Sentinel reached out for someone to act as baseline, to define normal. So, as the Sentinel orgasmed, the partner became the bondmate, who the Sentinel then developed an instinctive need to protect. After the bond, sex with other people wouldn't necessarily disrupt the bond as long as the bondmate was given permission and was close enough to monitor the interaction. Of course, the guardian could fucking sleep with the entire fleet with no consequences except possible removal of the Sentinel if he brought a venereal disease home.

Utterly logical, and utterly wrong. Jim remembered his bonding with Incacha. He lay in the dark, his whole body shuddering with fever and his mind full of the horror of having buried his friends. The smell of burning flesh and hot metal had made him throw up a half dozen times as he worked. The Army thought Jim's senses had come on-line late, but he'd developed them right on time--on time to live through his father's furious insistence that he hide his senses and a life in the army with all its hazards. And he had lived through the crash with the perfect sensory recall only a Sentinel could manage.

The Chopec had found him afterwards, dehydrated, concussed, delirious, and clinging to an imaginary cat. They'd carried him to the village.

In Incacha's hut, Jim had given up. He had finally reached a point where he just surrendered to the darkness, and then Incacha had laid down next to him, putting a cool hand on Jim's fevered chest. The first sob had been ripped from Jim's throat, and the ones after that slid out on the emotional avalanche that followed. In the dark, he'd clutched Incacha and cried. Even without understanding a word of the language, Jim understood the comfort Incacha offered, and on that intense emotion, Jim's senses had reached out and locked onto his first companion.

There were plenty of nights after that. The first successful raid against the drug dealers, when they'd come home with all the warriors, Jim had drunk native wine until his head swam. He'd laid his head on Incacha's thigh and felt his senses stretch between the two of them. Other nights he would lay in their hut, and he would listen to Incacha and his wife grunt in pleasure, and his own cock would fill until he came with Incacha, their bond tightening.

So, Jim knew that he could bond without sex. The danger was whether he could have sex without bonding.

He'd always avoided intimacy because he'd understood the danger, but if he wanted to have any chance at a normal life, he had to convince everyone he'd bonded to Keith. Of course, the danger was that he might actually bond. If he did that, endgame. Jim wouldn't walk away from a bondmate, and he knew it. And as much as he might have a stray thought about Sandburg, grabbing him and dragging him off, it was a fantasy. Jim wouldn't take someone else's freedom any more than he would accept other people taking his.

Jim stepped into the shower and scrubbed away the dust that had settled into his skin at the construction site. Jim's stomach rolled at the thought of replacing Incacha in his soul. A part of Jim still felt his first companion, and if he did this, he risked destroying the last piece of Incacha he carried.

If he didn't do it, he'd never be free. Eventually, Keith would get tired of living in a half-way house, and Jim would be passed on to someone else. Jim refused to accept that future. He wouldn't live his life in chains. He refused to let other people control his future. With military efficiency and a new determination, Jim finished his shower.

"I got those beers, and I lost about half my manhood," Keith called as the door opened. Jim wrapped a towel around himself.

"I'm surprised you remembered what you were going for," Jim said dryly as he came out of the bathroom and snagged one.

"You're worse than my mother." Keith dropped onto the loveseat, and Jim sat next to him in nothing more than a towel. He noticed how Keith's eyes darted everywhere but to Jim.

"Maybe your mother's right."

"Don't ever say that near her because I will never hear the end of it."

"I want to bond."

Keith fell silent, his beer halfway to his open mouth as Jim's words caught him flat footed. Slowly, he lowered the bottle and blinked at Jim. Jim finished taking a drink and cocked an eyebrow at Keith.

"Okay, I hate that you can look cool when saying things that leave me scrambling to get my brain restarted."

"I have years of practice on you. You'll get there," Jim offered. He sat with his beer and listened to Keith's heart pound heavily in his chest. Keith brought the mouth of his bottle up and took a long drink. The silence lingered even after he lowered the bottle.

"Are you sure? I mean, Ms. Bennett warned me that this would probably be temporary because you could qualify for a much more experienced guardian and you were just a little unsure about your ability to deal with the real world."

"That's why you had so much patience with the walks," Jim said, suddenly feeling very guilty about manipulating the kid.

"Yeah, I mean, I figured that at most, you'd have some good things to say about me when you requested a change over to homicide or major crimes. Hell, I figured Sandburg was feeling you out about requesting a change in guardianship."

"I'm not going to request Sandburg," Jim said definitely.

"And you're sure you want me? This isn't just adrenaline? You know, from me nearly getting my ass kicked?"

"That affected the timetable, not the decision," Jim lied. Sandburg had affected the timetable. It was time to be in another timezone because Jim didn't think for a second that the man had given up, and Jim had a finite amount of control with someone who just felt so right to his senses.

"So, you were planning on bonding?" Keith asked.

"You're a good cop and a good man. If I can just train you to put your shit away, you'll get promoted. I'm not in a hurry to move up and I'm not in a hurry to work with someone else, someone who might not be such a good man."

"And the events of today?"

Jim tilted his head as he considered his answer. "It bothered me that the guy almost got you. If I could have moved faster, I could have protected you better," Jim answered honestly. The ankle chains had nearly resulted in the suspect clocking Keith with a brick, and Jim could feel the bruises around his ankles where he had fought the restraints to rush to Keith's side. Punching the suspect had felt good, and having enough control to stop before doing real damage had felt better.

"You shouldn't have to protect me. It's my job to protect you while you do your thing with the senses," Keith argued, and the guilt Jim had nursed evaporated when faced with Keith's unflinching belief that Jim needed protection. After nearly a month, if he didn't know Jim well enough to know that Jim didn't need protection, then he deserved what Jim was going to do.

"Out there, we're partners. We watch out for each other," Jim corrected him gently, reining in his own frustration.

"Okay. I'm not sure how to do this," Keith admitted. Jim cocked an eyebrow at him again. Keith blushed. "Hey, I *know* how to do this, I just don't how you want us to do this."

Jim could hear the uncertainty in Keith voice, but the musk of arousal already wisped into the air and for the first time, Keith let his eyes settle on Jim. Jim flexed a muscle, and the scent intensified.

"Let's just start and see where it leads, okay?" Jim asked as he reached over and touched Keith's cheek. The man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Jim traced a finger down his neck and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I haven't showered," Keith whispered.

"Oh well," Jim answered, basically ignoring him as he popped one button after another. Keith's hand found his arm, holding on with trembling fingers. Jim let his hand run over Keith's chest, small hairs tickling the pads of Jim's fingers before he dialed down the sense of touch. He tweaked a nipple, and Keith gasped.

"Bedroom, get naked," Jim ordered tersely, his own thoughts clinging to the feeling of Incacha's warm hand resting against his cheek as a slightly drunk Jim lay on his lap and watched the victory dance.

Keith obviously mistook the tone for lust because he bolted up from the bed and immediately started shedding clothes. Jim rolled his eyes at the mess and followed and draped his own towel on the bathroom doorknob before he walked into the bedroom where Keith had his double bed. Their double bed, Jim corrected himself. He would share Keith's bed, and he would do it without bonding. He refused to accept any other outcome.

Keith was down to underwear, and was struggling to pull his right leg free of them as he balanced on his left. Jim reached out and put a hand on his hip to balance him. Keith jerked and lost all coordination, falling backwards. Jim easily caught him, his arms going around Keith's tall, lanky form, pulling him close.

Jim kissed the back of Keith's neck, and then the juncture between Keith's neck and shoulder. The body in his arms shivered. Jim moved forward, and then realized that Keith's legs were still tangled in the underwear.

Jim pushed, tipping Keith onto the bed. He lay with his arms splayed out against the rumpled sheets.

"Oh god. I just never--"

Keith stopped with a gasp when Jim let his hand rest against Keith's thigh and then followed the warmth up until he rested both hands on the hollows of Keith's hips.

"Jim, are you sure?" Keith asked, his voice strangled, but then most of his blood had gone to his cock which lay heavy and dark against his pale skin.

"I'm sure," Jim said, but he knew his own cock was only half hard. "It's just hard to open up. Just lay back and let me play," Jim whispered, and Keith breathed out, his body sagging into the mattress as Jim reached down and tugged off Keith's underwear.

The scent of pheromones lay heavy in the air as Jim crawled onto the bed, tugging and pushing Keith into position while Keith clutched at him, clearly fighting his own need to thrust up. With a needy moan, Keith grabbed Jim's shoulders, but Jim ignored the man's attempts to pull them together. Instead he lay down beside Keith and slipped his leg over Keith's form, holding him down.

Dialing down all the senses, Jim stroked the hot body below him as he sank into a memory.

Jim lay in Incacha's hut after a feast celebrating the tribe taking four gray deer. There was meat for all, and Jim was finally a warrior of the tribe, his skin streaked with red paint and the songs still in his ears as he lay down for the night. When Omili finally came to the hut, the moon cast pale shadows over the night which slipped into the hut through the gaps in the woven twigs. She slipped into bed with a giggle, and Jim listened as Incacha's hand whispered over his wife's dark skin.

She gasped her need, and the scent of her arousal filled the air. Jim had blushed, and held his breath as he tried to decide between waiting them out and fleeing into the night.

"Sentinel, you should enjoy this with us," Incacha whispered. Jim blushed even harder and stood to leave.

"No, do not flee," Omili had whispered kindly, her voice rough with desire.

"Stay," Incacha agreed, and Jim sank back to his pallet.

Incacha once again turned to his wife, trailing kisses across her neck and down to her bare breasts. She arched up, and Jim felt his cock harden. Feeling like a voyeur, Jim had turned his back, focusing on the woven sticks of the hut, but his hearing dialed up so that he could hear each strained breath, every sigh of skin brushing against skin.

Hell, he could feel the air currents shift as Incacha and Omili had twisted around, and the smell of lust and sweat had filled the air. Jim clutched the pallet, panting with his own need as Omili groaned and skin slapped damply against skin.

Jim felt his senses wheel out of control, his hearing straining and his body humping in time with the rhythmic thump of Incacha's thrust. On each one, Omili would mewl, and Jim could feel the air currents from her breath. The moonlight brightened until he could track their shadows across the screen of twigs that made the wall of the hut.

Unable to resist, Jim reached down and grasped his cock, sliding back and forth into his own fist until he gasped for air. His whole body unraveled and his senses spiraled out of control and Jim didn't even try to control either as he thrust faster and faster.

Omili screamed, and Incacha made a grunt of satisfaction as the thrusts grew harder and deeper so that Omili's scream became a low wail that filled the room. Incacha called out words that Jim didn't know, and then fell silent, his body collapsing over his wife.

Jim felt his own orgasm rip through him, releasing him, binding him to Incacha, draining him of energy, but filling him with all the sounds and smells of the jungle.

Panting, sated, happy, Jim slowly opened his eyes.

Keith lay with his eyes closed and his mouth open, the smell of their semen mixing in the air. Jim looked down and found his hand around both their cocks, and both of them were softening. For a heartbeat, he struggled with a reality that didn't make sense. Then grief and pain drove out the satisfaction.

Incacha had rejected him. Incacha and Omili were a world away, safe, happy. He was here. Jim's still raw senses sent flares of distress through him, and Jim clenched his jaw against the need to find his mate.

"Jim?" Keith said softly. Jim didn't realize he had closed his eyes, but he opened them when Keith's fingers reached up to his face, brushing away tears Jim didn't remember crying. "Are you okay?"

"I can see you have something to learn about the post-sex talking," Jim said lightly. "I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"It's just..." Jim paused. "It's just different for me, Keith. I'm good," Jim promised. He captured Keith's hand which lingered on his face and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

And laying in bed, Jim realized he was fine. His plan had obviously worked because instead of the joy of a bondmate, he could only feel the gaping, raw wound of Incacha's absence. The sex had only brightened the pain.

"Let's get cleaned up before we stick together," Jim said lightly. He would mourn Incacha's loss again, but not now. Now he had a plan.

Keith nodded and started rolling toward the bed. "Man, I don't mind telling you, you've ruined me for anyone else. My god, Jim, is that a Sentinel thing or just you?"

"Experience, Sport," Jim lied. "You'll get there."

ELEVEN  
***  
Pretending to window shop for hunting knives, Blair kept an eye on his target in the reflection of the window. The mall was the last place Blair expected Jim to go, but here he was, wandering through the mall with a shopping bag after coming out of a sporting goods store.

The detective in Blair was suspicious. The part of Blair that kept him up at night whispering that he'd unfairly stolen another's person's life was ecstatic.

Jim stopped at a food vendor and Blair wandered one store down to get a better reflection. He could see the kid behind the counter hesitate, his eyes scanning the crowd behind Jim, probably looking for his guardian. Jim crossed his arms. The kid jerked. Yep, Ellison had just verbally lashed him. And there went the kid rushing to fill Jim's order.

Take away the collar that warned the casual shoppers, take away the children who pointed at him and pulled on their parent's arms, take away the ones who slid away from him, and he was just one more shopper. Two months since getting out of the SI, just over three weeks since bonding with Keith Walker, and Jim was wandering the mall by himself.

Blair blinked and found himself eying pink underwear. Shit. Blair stepped away from the Victoria's Secret window and wandered to Barnes and Noble, casually sorting the discount books, as he watched Jim's reflection on a silver trash can. Jim headed for a table, and Blair shifted so that he could see him out of the side of his eye.

He looked good.

Jim shoved half a hoagie in his mouth and chewed while flipping through some sort of magazine or brochure. Seven months ago, Blair would have considered this proof that his work with the Sentinel division was justified. Seven months ago, Jim was dirty and tired and riding the thin edge of frustration. Now he sat in the middle of a mall flipping through a magazine and looking good. Really good.

But Blair remembered the man's fierce insistence on freedom, and that collar still sat on his neck. Okay, so some Sentinels were out of control and yeah, maybe society needed a warning that they were unstable. But what about Dooger? The senior punched out some clueless underclassman every single time he got drunk, and he definitely needed to come with a warning label. If his father didn't keep giving the university endowment money, he would have been kicked out long ago.

And that was just one more unfairness. Blair added a mystery novel to his small stack and headed for the counter to pay. Jim was busy with his fries, so he wouldn't move for a little bit.

Blair wandered back out the door, desperate to scratch his neck where he'd tucked his ponytail, but there'd be plenty of time to do that once Jim got on the bus and headed home. No way could Blair follow him there. Well, he could follow him, but he really wasn't sure what the point would be. Jim would go home and switch into a thin t-shirt before working on the front yard or the car, and Keith would come out with two beers, and Blair would decide once again that he hated the scrawny detective from Burglary.

Okay, maybe Blair was overgeneralizing. Maybe two evenings watching them had given him the wrong picture. Maybe Jim didn't look so comfortable with Walker on the other nights when Blair wasn't watching. Maybe on those other nights, Jim didn't brush his hand over Walker's back. Maybe he didn't spend those nights comfortably chatting with scrawny, stupid Walker. God, if someone had Blair under surveillance, he would sure notice, but not Walker. Idiot.

And Walker clearly didn't appreciate who had chosen him. If he truly understood Jim, the department would be whispering about how remarkable Jim was, and yet, Blair hadn't caught even a hint of rumor or awe about the new Sentinel. He did his job. He was protective of Keith. He had a fair amount of control. Every time Blair pumped someone from the Two-Nine, they shrugged their shoulders and repeated the same routine, ordinary comments about Jim, but Blair knew he wasn't an ordinary man. So, if there wasn't anything wrong with Jim, Walker was clearly an idiot. And scrawny.

Jim stood and picked up his bag and his tray. He dumped his trash into a can and headed for the exit nearest the bus stop. Blair sighed and headed for the exit just to the south. He'd parted his Toyota there.

His cell phone rang as he stepped out into the brisk fall air, and Blair pulled it out.

"Sandburg," he said.

"Hey sweetie," the voice on the other end answered.

"Dinah. How is the sweetest woman at all of Rainier?"

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you say that to all the secretaries you're trying to sweet-talk."

"You're the only secretary I sweet-talk," Blair disagreed as he headed out into the parking lot. Clouds wandered the sky so that huge nebulous shadows drifted over the cars. "Can I get on Edwards' calendar?"

"She has an opening next week, but Sweetie, you are running out of time with the woman. I don't think she would sign off on this dissertation change except that you really have some people talking about that last paper. Dr. Stoddard was in here saying words like 'ground-breaking,' and promises of good press turn her head nearly as fast as big donations."

"And I will bring her all the good press she can dream of, she just has to give me a little more slack," Blair promised. "And I owe you a huge box of really expensive chocolates."

"Make that chocolates and a kiss, and I might forgive you for putting me on the spot with the dragon-lady."

"A thousand kisses, all for you, Dinah," Blair promised.

"God you're a flirty little shit. I am so setting you up with my niece one of these days.

"If she looks anything like you, I'll be a lucky man."

"She looks thirty years younger than me, and she's still probably older than you," Dinah laughed. "You're on the calendar, and you have a nice day, Blair."

"You too. And thanks, Dinah."

"No problem. Bye."

"Bye." Blair clicked the off button on the phone. The next second the phone was plucked from his hand and Blair jerked away, his heart pounding wildly as he stumbled backwards... at least he did until he spotted the smirking face of James Joseph Ellison. The man leaned against Blair's car and looked curiously at Blair as he held up the phone.

"Charming the girls, huh? Good to know that I'm not the only one who's been taken in by that smile of yours." Jim tossed the phone, and Blair caught it.

"Oh man! You just about gave me a heart attack!" Blair complained as he took deep breaths.

"I doubt it."

"What the hell are you doing?" Blair demanded as he shoved the phone back into a pocket. A couple walking through the parking lot looked over, eyes wide, and then hurried for their car with worried looks towards Jim.

"What am *I* doing?" Jim asked, his eyebrows raising as he crossed his arms. Blair felt himself blush.

"Hey, you're the one scaring me into a heart attack," Blair pointed out. Jim just continued to stare. "I'm just shopping. You know, books." Blair held his bag up defensively. "Man, I know you are all special ops guy, but you do not have to pull that shit with me just to prove some point."

"Is that what I was doing?" Jim asked.

Blair glared. "I have no idea what you were doing, but that was so not cool."

"Why are you here, Chief?"

"I'm shopping. We went over this once already, right after you scared the shit out of me."

"So, you were shopping for women's underwear?" Jim asked with a wicked smile that made Blair blush to the end of his hair. "I'm wondering if that's so you can charm some lady or if you just have a secret kink. You were looking at that pink lace number a long time."

"I wasn't... I mean... I got books," Blair finally managed to say.

Jim shook his head. "Not buying it, Sandburg. You live on Prospect, you work at Central, and you have class at Rainier. This mall isn't anywhere near where you shop."

"Hey, I am not into the whole proxemics of consumerism. I mean, sometimes a person needs to get out of their comfort zone and just go explore the city, especially since Major Crimes covers the entire city. The whole city is my beat, man."

"So, you're parking a block down from Keith's house because you felt an overwhelming need to patrol the area?"

"What? No!" Blair hurried to say.

"If you keep tabs on all your old cases like you do me, you must not sleep much at night."

"Hey! I am not keeping tabs on you." Blair crossed his arms and tried to look just as annoyed as Jim, but from the way Jim raised one eyebrow, Blair was guessing he hadn't pulled it off.

"Sandburg, whatever game you're playing, please just leave me alone." Jim uncrossed his arms and stooped down to pick up his shopping bag.

"Jim, really, I'm not playing a game," Blair rushed to say. "And I know I don't have a lot of idiosyncratic credit with you, and I am totally okay with that, but I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I don't need a babysitter," Jim growled. Blair hesitated a step, falling behind as Jim strode toward the bus stop, and he hurried to catch up.

"I never thought you did, man. I just... after you said you had less control after the SI, I wondered if you were getting your control back, and the anthropologist in me just sometimes gets a little curious."

Jim kept walking.

"I wrote a paper on that. Two of the other Sentinels I..." Blair faltered. What should he call them? Sentinels he retrieved or captured? He skipped the whole word-debate. "Anyway, I interviewed two of them about the long-term effects of life in the SI, and they both reported significant degradation of control, and then I did a study with short-term students who were in for just the required classes, two weeks, and I found significant changes after even a short-term stay. The paper isn't out yet, obviously. I just gave it to a couple of professors, but I have so totally caught people's attention. The professors are talking about it, and one sent it to a friend of his and it looks like it might be one of the lead articles in American Anthropologist and Eli Stoddard offered to co-author a piece with me for Anthropology and Humanism if we do something with a wider population because I just slammed through that first study." Blair took a breath.

"Chief, look," Jim snapped, turning around so suddenly that Blair found himself chest to chest with the man. Blair could see Jim's nose flare as he scented the air. "This doesn't have anything to do with me."

"I'm trying to do the right thing here. If I can show them the science, I might be able to get the SI to make changes in housing. It's not much, but man, I'm really trying."

Jim sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I hope you get through to them. For the sake of the kids in there, I really do. But this still doesn't have anything to do with me, and I'm a little confused, and a little frustrated, about you watching me."

"Jim." Blair stopped he didn't really have an answer. "Let me give you a ride home."

"If you're looking for forgiveness..."

"No," Blair interrupted. "Hey, I'm totally okay with you being pissed at me. I'd be pissed at me too, if I were you. Hell, I'm me and I'm still pissed at me."

"So this is self-flagellation," Jim said dryly.

Blair blushed again. "Hey, if I have guilt, I deserve it, but that's not why I'm following you, honest."

"Then why?"

"I don't know," Blair confessed.

"Chief..."

"Hey, I am well aware that I'm not dealing with this very rationally, and as a cop, I know that I crossed the stalking line a while back."

"And you knew I'd catch you at it," Jim interrupted. "And I'm wondering why exactly you want me to catch you. Looking for an easy way off the force? A chance to stop being a cop without quitting?" Jim demanded.

"No!" Blair immediately insisted. "I'm good at my job; I don't want to lose it."

"Then why tail me?" Jim gave Blair a demanding look that made him feel about two inches high. "Are you so sure I won't turn your ass in? You certainly seemed okay with turning me in."

Blair cringed.

"Fuck," Jim breathed. "You screwed me over, and you're giving me a chance to screw you over? That it?"

"No!" Blair insisted. "Maybe," he amended it when he thought about that for a second. He took an uneven breath. "I just wanted to know. I guess I just have this academic curiosity going."

"Academic curiosity?" Jim repeated incredulously.

"I mean, you rearranged my world, and now I'm intellectually flopping around trying to figure out how much of what I know about Sentinels is bullshit. I mean, you're it." Blair struggled to explain something that wasn't even clear in his mind. "You're like this Rosetta Stone with the big answer... what's a Sentinel supposed to be like, and I just.... Fuck. When Naomi comes back, and I tell her what I'm thinking, she's going to cry over me finally getting it. Then she is so going to give me the lecture about how I totally just accepted the status quo, and I so deserve that lecture."

"Blair..."

"And she raised me better, you know? I mean, she raised me to look past society's shit. I was raised on the picket lines protesting the treatment of migrant farm workers and the dangers of nuclear energy, but I don't know. I just bought the company line about Sentinels hook line and sinker."

"And now?" Jim asked. Blair had taken to studying the buttons on Jim's shirt, and he looked up, flinching as his eyes skimmed past the collar. Jim looked genuinely curious.

"I'm an ass," Blair shrugged. "Took me a while to figure it out, but I got there. I mean, if you earn a collar by showing you can't control yourself, that's one thing, but no one should be judged without ever being given a chance. And if a Sentinel can earn a collar to warn people that he's unpredictable, then a non-Sentinel should be able to, too.

"And some of the Sentinel stuff? I mean, I went through that Sentinel class the SI puts on, and man, I would be ready to knock someone's block off for some of that shit. No one should have a right to... but they do that and if you tell them the truth, which is that they're all full of shit, they just put it down to you being a Sentinel and having no control." Blair turned away and pulled his ponytail out of his jacket, reaching back and scratching the itch.

"Man, I haven't ever fucked up this big before," Blair said quietly, "and then I go and discover that I've fucked so many people over that my karma is like this giant, overstuffed elephant... like huge. It's not good for my self-image, you know. And I guess I'm just trying to catch my balance."

"By watching me?" Jim's voice was soft now, and Blair closed his eyes.

"I don't know."

"I don't know either, Chief. But this watching me..."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I know I should just stop. I'm getting carpal tunnel from typing with the laptop perched on the steering wheel." Blair turned around and smiled weakly, but Jim's face was full of concern. It made Blair feel even worse.

"Blair, Keith and I are going camping for a week, just to get out of the city. Take the week off," Jim suggested. "Keith's going to notice you creeping from tree to tree behind us, and you need to get your head screwed on straight." Jim stepped forward and put his hand on Blair's shoulder. Blair leaned into the casual touch.

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered.

"I know you are, Chief. I'm sorry, too."

It wasn't quite forgiveness, but Blair managed a small smile, content to get what he could. "Let me drive you home," he suggested, looking up into Jim's dark eyes.

Jim stood silent for a moment and then shook his head. "No. You need to go home, Chief. I can take the bus."

"But--"

"No," Jim repeated. "Blair, this is it. I don't want to see you again." Jim turned and walked toward the bus stop, shopping bag in hand, and Blair bit his lip. He'd screwed with Jim enough; maybe it was time to admit that he wouldn't ever fix this mistake and move on. Blair turned slowly back toward his own car, for some reason, feeling worse than ever.

TWELVE  
***  
"Rise and shine, Sport. It's dark o'clock of the morning, and we need to get on the road," Jim said cheerfully as he shook Keith. Keith groaned and flopped a hand out.

"Too damn early."

"We talked about this yesterday. I want out of the city before the traffic starts," Jim said as he sat on the edge of their bed and pulled his shoes on.

"I don't mind traffic; I'll drive rush hour," Keith mumbled as he rolled over. Jim gritted his teeth. Okay, time to do something he really hated doing.

"Keith, the car exhaust on the freeway during rush hour is really hard for me. Don't make me do that," he said in the smallest voice he could muster, given how much he hated playing helpless.

Keith lay motionless for a second. "Right, moving," Keith answered as he rolled toward the edge of the bed groggily.

He reached out a hand towards Jim, and Jim took it, sitting on the edge of the bed by Keith.

Jim felt like a heel.

"Want to wake up properly?" Keith asked as he ran a hand over Jim's thigh. Jim could smell the desire on the early morning air.

"Keith..." Jim stopped. Up until now he had managed. He didn't always come, and the infrequent sex always left him raw and struggling with a grief that ripped into his soul, but he'd managed. However, now his emotions were too raw, his hope was too close to the surface to take the risk, not now, not when he could feel freedom crouching at the edge of his awareness.

"Keith, I want to do this properly. I don't want a quicky before we jump in the car."

Keith blinked at him, and Jim could feel the worry and stress.

"My first bondmate was in the jungle, Keith. It'll be easier for me when we're out in the woods, away from all this noise," Jim promised.

"We could try downstairs again," Keith suggested softly.

"After a week of getting to know each other, I'm sure downstairs will work fine," Jim whispered. He let his own hand trail over Keith's hip, feeling like six feet three inches of pure shit. Time enough to feel guilty later. Jim reached over Keith to the end table where he'd sat the mug he'd brought in earlier. Sex and coffee... two sure ways to get Keith moving in the morning.

"Got the coffee right here," Jim said, luring the man with the mug of coffee just outside his reach. Keith reached for it, and Jim surrendered the cup.

"So, are you actually awake?"

"Yep, awake, moving," Keith grunted as he took a sip.

"I'm going to get things ready; just get yourself dressed. Oh, did you call the social worker, let her know we were going out of town?"

"Yes, mother. God, you nag, Jim."

"God, you forget shit, Keith."

"Yeah, yeah. I called her, I told her we'd be back in a week. I stopped the newspaper. I have the neighbor picking up the mail. It's all taken care of, oh mother hen Ellison." Keith took a long drink of coffee and then put the mug down on the side table.

"Good," Jim said as he walked out of the room. He went back to the kitchen and picked up a box of non-perishables and took it downstairs into the Sentinel-safe room. Other than one of their "bonding" sessions, Keith had never used it. And after Jim hadn't come at all that time, Keith had locked the door and forgotten it. But just knowing it was down here.... Jim pushed open the door to the actual room. It had no windows, but when he turned the soft lights on, a filtration system rumbled softly behind soundproofed walls. The walls were soft brown, the floor a deep, padded carpet in beige. The only door led into a small bathroom. It reminded Jim of a padded cell in a nuthouse, and it really was used just about the same way.

Every guardian needed a Sentinel-safe room, but like with most things, Keith had gone a little overboard.

Jim put the box just inside the door and went upstairs. He could hear Keith in the back bathroom, turning water on and cursing softly about the time. Jim grabbed the radio and another box of food and a few books. He carried them down the stairs and then hurried back up.

By the time Keith came into the kitchen, Jim was packing the water canteens into a box destined for the trunk of Keith's car.

"I can't believe I'm moving before the sun is even up. I haven't done this since cub scouts." Keith scrubbed his hair, and the spikes were back.

"How much rent do you pay on this place?" Jim asked as he unfolded the maps, checking them before folding them back up and slipping them into the box. He had several maps. He hadn't yet decided on an escape route.

"What?"

"How much rent do you pay?" Jim repeated calmly. Keith looked at him a little strangely, and then shrugged. "Eleven hundred a month."

"How much rent do I pay you?" Jim asked as he picked up an apple and bit into it. Keith had torn open a breakfast bar, but he ignored it as he focused all his attention on Jim.

"Do you think I'd mismanage your money?" Keith asked, all the bleariness gone, his brows lowered in concern.

"I just think a man should know how much rent he's paying," Jim said easily. "So, how much?"

"Four hundred a month."

"And how much do I have in my account right now?"

"Is there something you need? Jim, you don't have to save up if it's something you really want. I mean, I don't really need that four hundred, so I'd be okay with kicking it right back to you." Keith put the breakfast bar down and took a step forward. Shit, this would be so much easier if the kid had beaten him or stolen his money, but Jim knew that Keith would never do either one.

"I just want to know how much money I have in the bank, Sport," Jim said as he put the apple down and stepped closer to Keith.

"Nearly two thousand," Keith answered.

"Don't you think that's something a man should know about himself? You know, I don't even know how much money I make a week. I mean, I know my salary is based on yours, but I don't know how much either of us makes. And I know that when I ran, I must have had at least sixty thousand in back salary. So, is that floating around somewhere or did the powers that be just decide that since I was a Sentinel now, they could save a little money?"

"If the army stole from you, we can call Ms. Bennett when we get back. That's not right, and if you have sixty thousand dollars coming to you, I'll make sure you get it."

"You will," Jim said quietly, dangerously.

"You know I wouldn't let someone steal from you," Keith assured. "Jim, are you okay?" He stepped forward and let his hand rest on Jim's arm.

"Keith, has it ever occurred to you that, as a man, I shouldn't have to ask you how much I make? I shouldn't have to ask you for permission to use my own money. I sure as hell shouldn't need you to fight my battles for me."

"Jim, what are you talking about?" Keith now started to smell of concern, and he studied Jim's face, his brows lowered in a tight frown.

"And your belief that I need to be protected is flat-out insulting."

"Whatever the problem is, let's just calm down here." Keith let his fingers circle soothingly on Jim's arm. The touch might have been calming except that Jim knew it was a calculated move meant to control him by short-circuiting his anger.

"The problem is that you, like all the assholes at SI, think you have a right to try and control me," Jim said softly. Keith's fingers hesitated before he started the petting again.

"Jim, I know that the instincts can get a little overwhelming at times..."

"No, the patronizing attitude can get a little overwhelming," Jim corrected him. "The having people assume that I can't control myself and the way that you all treat me like I'm a mentally damaged child is incredibly overwhelming. But the fact is that I have been a Sentinel for twenty years without having you manage my finances or give me permission to go to the mall."

"Jim..." Keith breathed the word, pulling his hand back as he inched a retreat.

"Keith, you look at me like just another Sentinel; you don't see me."

"I see you," Keith promised.

"Where did I train for the Rangers?" Jim asked. He crossed his arms and waited as Keith opened his mouth wordlessly. "What's my father's name? When's the last time I talked to him?"

"Hey, you aren't very big on sharing, and I'm okay with that. And your father is William."

"Which you got from my file," Jim said with confidence. "Which of us would qualify higher on the weapons range?" Jim mused. "I'm betting I would."

"You want a gun? Jim? Maybe I should call someone," Keith said shakily.

"You ignored my control, my real needs, my special ops training. Keith, you're going to be a good cop one day, but you have to start questioning what you see far more than you do now," Jim continued, completely ignoring Keith's comment, and the fear that now drifted through the air.

Keith suddenly twisted and lunged toward the phone, but Jim closed the distance between them in a single stride, grabbing Keith's arm and using the momentum to put him face first against the wall.

Keith struck out with a leg, but the kick was off-balance and ineffective, and Jim pressed his own body to Keith's back, trapping the man so that he couldn't move.

"Jim," Keith pleaded, and now the fear almost choked Jim.

"Keith, calm down," Jim muttered, unwilling to terrorize the man. Yeah, he was part of a whole system that had terrorized Jim, but the kid didn't know that. "Keith, I'm not going to hurt you, so just calm down."

"Jim, come on, you don't want to do this." Keith swallowed heavily and his words came out shaky.

"I want my freedom. That's all. I don't want you hurt."

"Jim, you don't want to put people in danger."

"I was helping people when you were still watching cartoons in your Spiderman pajamas," Jim pointed out. "So, we're going to walk downstairs. If you try to fight me, I will do what I have to in order to subdue you. The goal here is to get you downstairs without hurting you, so don't fight me on this one, Keith."

"Jim." Keith tried to turn, to face Jim; however, Jim captured Keith's arm and twisted it up behind his back.

"Downstairs."

Keith tugged once, and Jim wrenched his arm up higher, forcing Keith onto his toes and making him hiss with pain. When Jim eased up, Keith didn't fight any more. Slowly, Jim walked Keith downstairs and toward the Sentinel-safe room.

"You planned this. That's why you worked on getting me to agree to the camping trip. I thought the city really was making the bonding hard on you." God, the kid sounded like someone had just told him, for the first time, that Santa Claus wasn't real.

"You're a good kid, but no one has the right to own anyone else. I'm just doing whatever I have to do, here," Jim explained.

"When they catch you, they're going to give you to some hardass who keeps you chained and locks you in your room the minute you get home. Jim, I don't want that for you. Just let me go, and we'll forget this ever happened."

"Sport, if they catch me, they're going to lock me in some room in some Institute and leave me there until I rot," Jim corrected him. "But at least I'll rot knowing that I did what I could to earn my freedom. Besides, with a week's head start, their odds of catching me are not that good," Jim pointed out as he pushed Keith into the room.

Keith stumbled forward and then spun as if ready to take Jim on in hand-to-hand combat.

"Don't try it, Sport. You'll just get hurt," Jim warned. "I've left you enough food for a couple of weeks, but the captain will be calling as soon as you don't show up for work next Monday, so you shouldn't be down here more than eight or nine days. You have a radio, and some books. Is there anything else you need?"

"Answers, Jim," Keith said softly. He rubbed the shoulder Jim had twisted and looked at Jim in confusion.

"I deserve a chance to live free."

"But we bonded."

Jim shook his head. "No, we didn't. We had sex."

"That's why you sometimes had problems... why you couldn't come," Keith said softly.

"And I appreciate you not talking about that problem with the social worker," Jim nodded. "You're a good man, and if I had let myself, I could have bonded with you, but you aren't worth giving up my freedom. No one is."

Keith's confusion hardened into something darker. "So much for that whole story about the city causing your problems. You just played me like a fucking violin," Keith swore, which was totally out of character for the man Jim had grown to know.

"Keith, a Sentinel raised in the system would think himself lucky to get you as a bondmate. You're a good man, and I said as much in the letter I left upstairs. But you have to get this through your head. As a man, I have a right to be free. If other Sentinels don't fight for their freedom, that's their choice, but I won't walk away from a chance to be my own man. And I played everyone, from Nunez to the judge to you, so you're in good company."

Jim pushed aside the thoughts of Sandburg, who all the way up to the end seemed to sense something was wrong. Jim hadn't seen him today, but if the kid turned up trying to tail Jim again, he would have to do something drastic. He just had to fight the urge to grab the kid and make the run up the I-5 with him in the trunk.

"Jim, please," Keith tried one more time.

"You might want to spend the next week or so thinking about the unfairness of someone locking you up just because they can," Jim suggested before he pushed the heavy door shut. Sliding the bolt into place, Jim watched Keith for a second through the small shatterproof window. He stood with his hands hanging by his side, looking utterly lost.

Turning away, Jim headed up the stairs. The cool weather was the perfect excuse for him to switch into one of the turtleneck sweaters he'd bought with the allowance he'd begged from Keith. That would work until tonight when he could break into some place with heavy cutting equipment. Car body shop would be best. Sunday, and the gun shops were closed, so he could break into one and get something a little more effective than Keith's service weapon. By Monday, he could decide which escape route to use and head for Canada.

No more Sentinel Institute, no more guardian, no more chains or collars, and no more Blair Sandburg. He quickly changed shirts, grabbed the last box of supplies, and slipped out into the dark. No more putting his life on hold.

THIRTEEN  
***  
Blair stepped out onto the dark street. This tip might just turn out to be some cracked up homeless guy talking to the wall, but Ruby usually pointed Blair in the right direction when she called about Sentinels in trouble. Seven months ago, Blair would have called the Sentinel division and reported her call. Hell, seven months ago Blair would have *been* the Sentinel division. Now, nothing was quite as black and white.

Walking up to a graffitied door, Blair knocked on it, and then leaned back and watched his car. Okay, if he was lucky, he would come back to a car still mostly intact. If he hurried. Maybe. The door slid open with a screeching wail, and Ruby stood there, a solid shadow in the murky darkness.

"Hey, beautiful," Blair said as he stepped closer and leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. Kids and gang members regularly shot out the streetlights, so even this close, he could barely see her smile.

"Blair, one day you're going to charm the wrong woman, and she's going to drag you to the church and make an honest man out of you."

"Never going to happen. I would never abandon you, Ruby."

She snorted. "Get inside before someone spots your white ass on the street," she stepped back into her kitchen and flicked on a light. Weak florescent lights flickered and finally illuminated the space.

Blair stepped into the immaculately clean kitchen. Huge pots hung from the wall and rows of spatulas waited for the morning rush when her volunteers would show up for a couple of hours of hard labor under Ruby while they fed hundreds of homeless and poor. And in the middle, stood Ruby. She was possibly the darkest black woman Blair had ever seen, and while she wasn't exactly fat, Blair, looked at her and thought of that old saying, 'built like a brick shit-house.' He wouldn't want to piss her off because she very possibly could break him in half.

"So, I hear you have a couple of Sentinels wandering around."

"Maybe," Ruby agreed carefully. "Some of the guys been talking about a couple of Sentinels down by the docks. You plan on tracking them down alone?" Ruby asked, her eyebrows going up.

"We don't even know if they are Sentinels," Blair shrugged. "So, what exactly have you heard about these two guys?"

Ruby cocked her head and considered him with narrowed eyes. "They say these guys are wandering down by the Wins warehouse. They're in bad shape if the rumors are true," she said slowly. "They're flinching away from noises no one else can hear and huddling in the shadows."

"Why do you think they're Sentinels?" Blair asked curiously. Ruby's eyes never left him; she studied him so intensely that Blair found himself squirming under her gaze.

"People down here are poor and uneducated, but they can spot a Sentinel," she finally said as she crossed her arms and silently dared Blair to challenge her. No way was Blair touching that challenge.

"Down by the Wins warehouse?" he asked, completely ignoring that creepy sensation that felt suspiciously like when his dissertation committee called him in and started demanding answers. Only, instead of facing 12 cranky, old, hide-bound men and women, he had to face one Ruby, and his dissertation committee freaked him out a lot less.

She stared at him for a second before she agreed with a simple, "Yep."

Blair sighed. Okay, choice one: call in the Sentinel division. And no way could he do that, not again. Choice two: find them and help them. Illegal as hell, but better for the karma. "I'll go check it out," he agreed as he turned toward the door.

"Hold on there, babe, where's your backup?"

"Ruby," Blair stopped. Funny, the minute anything Sentinel came up, Blair lost his bearings and struggled to make even the simplest of decisions. He took a deep breath and tried to find the certainty, the confidence in himself that he'd possessed eight months ago. He couldn't. "I'm not sure the Sentinel Institute is always the best option," he admitted softly. He turned around and faced her. "I think some Sentinels do just fine on their own, and need to just be left alone."

Ruby's eyes went wide and she stood silent as she considered him. Slowly she started nodding. "I respect a man's choices, but do you really think these two are going to be okay with just a helpful word and a meal?" Ruby asked without even batting an eye at Blair's confession.

She wasn't calling and reporting him, so that was a step forward, Blair thought as he gave her a smile and a shrug. "Probably not. But for all I know, they're two crackheads. I'll go down there and see what I can find. If I find two crackheads, I'll offer them a ride to rehab. If I find two Sentinels in really severe distress, I'll call in the Sentinel division."

"If you find two runners?" Ruby asked curiously.

"I'll clean them up, get them fed, and ask them what they want to do," Blair said honestly, well aware that he was admitting to a felony, which didn't generally look good on a cop's record. Simon would have a fit if Blair got caught.

"Honey, if I just thought they needed feeding, I would have fed them," Ruby said softly. "But you do what you need to do. If you think they're stable enough to hold themselves together, you bring them back here, and I'll help you get them cleaned up," Ruby offered.

Blair shook his head. "I wouldn't put you on the spot, Ruby. If someone's going to get his ass thrown in jail, I'm the better candidate. I mean, you're really needed down here. A lot of these homeless people count on you for more than just food, and if you get arrested.... I wouldn't put you in the middle."

Ruby laughed. Hell, Ruby howled. With one hand on a hip, she leaned against the gleaming prep table and laughed until her eyes crinkled at the sides and her eyes brightened with tears of laughter.

"Oh, honey. You are just such a little sweetie. First, I'm not going to jail. Second, I've been in the middle longer than you've been wearing long pants." She wiped a tear from her face and shook her head in amusement. Still shaking her head, she headed around the prep table to the large refrigerators and pulled out an apple. "You want one?" she asked.

Blair shook his head, struggling to understand when this conversation had gone south.

"Wrong answer, babe," she said as she pursed her lips and considered him. "Someone asks if you want an apple, you tell 'em how you can never resist the temptation, or maybe how you're tempted, but you shouldn't."

The words registered, but Blair's brain was still back on the Ruby being involved part, and it took a second for the meaning of her words to finally sink into his brain.

"Ruby?" Blair asked. He'd never been the kind of kid who sent off for secret decoder rings and played spy, but her knowing wink and the way she held the apple up told Blair just how big of a secret she had just entrusted to him. Fuck. How many doors would that open? Blair wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Hon, you're a good man. Sometimes men need a little more growin' up time than women do, but I knew you'd get there. So, you take my word for it that these two are hurting. I think you're going to have to call in for some help."

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed. A half-dozen times, Ruby had called him for some Sentinel that wandered into the area, lured by her food. But the Sentinels they'd retrieved from her tips had been traumatized, in one case, near coma. Their senses had been so out of control that they shivered in the corner or screamed and clawed their own skin. One woman had taken one look at Blair and had thrown herself at his legs, bruising and battering him in what seemed to be a psychotic attempt to climb into Blair's skin with him. Ruby never turned in a functional Sentinel.

Blair blinked at Ruby in surprise. She chuckled and shook her head. "Sometimes you men just aren't that quick on the draw, but the moment I met you, I knew you'd figure it out for yourself."

"But, Ruby," Blair nearly whispered. "I..." he stopped and looked around. "I have a white noise generator and a Sentinel safe room. I've got access to Sentinel medicines. I might be able to help them, even if you can't," he said, truly damning himself in the eyes of the law. Yep, he'd just gone from one to five years in prison to a good eight years... ten if he actually did take them home. Suddenly, Blair wished he wasn't a cop. It might be easier if he didn't know the law well enough to know how truly damned he was if he got caught. Well, at least Naomi would be proud of him at his trial.

"If I get there and they're that bad, I'll call for help," Blair promised. "But I can't just send two people to the Institute before I know for sure, and I'm not questioning your judgment because you have always been right in the past, but..." Blair stopped, unsure of how to explain this without sounding like he didn't trust Ruby.

Ruby nodded. "Knew you'd be worth your salt when you finally went and grew up. You do what you have to do. And if you think you can help 'em, you let me know and I'll get you some transportation."

Blair blinked at Ruby in surprise, wondering just how far her fingers went into the underground. Shit, Blair would have donated a kidney to get this much information eight months ago, and thank god she had never trusted him back then.

"You're a good woman, Ruby," Blair nodded as headed for the door.

"Damn right I am," she enthusiastically agreed. "But, Blair..."

Blair turned to look at her.

"You're a good man, and you always have been. Alls you've seen is the poor souls suffering under the pain of being a Sentinel. Maybe if you'd really seen the Sentinels who live just fine without all this Institute crap, you would have thought twice, but that's not your fault."

Blair stared at Ruby for a second, and then she sniffed, a sure sign of dismissal. "Get out there before those boys take your car apart one bolt at a time."

Not really sure what to think, and knowing that his car probably was in danger, Blair headed out the door. The cool fall air smelled of trash and coming rain. Blair headed for his car as pre-adolescent shadows darted away and ran for a nearby building with boarded up windows.

Blair pulled up on the south side of the Wins warehouse and reached into his pocket for the strip of metal he usually carried. This would be a hell of a lot safer in the day when dock workers from the nearby ships would be wandering through; however, since Blair wasn't on the right side of legal anymore, darkness was his friend.

He got out of the car, not bothering to lock it. In this neighborhood, the kids could open the door faster without the key than Blair could with it. Besides, hopefully Blair wouldn't have to go far; hopefully he could lure the Sentinels to him and get them into the car. Ruby might be willing to help, but Blair just wasn't sure he was ready to be part of the organized....

Blair stopped and considered the words he could use to mentally finish that thought. Underground fit best. And given the way society treated Sentinels, the comparisons with American slavery were pretty appropriate. Funny, until now, Blair really hadn't thought of people like Ruby and Magna as anything other than criminals; he'd pretty much lumped them in with traffickers. And bringing in a woman like Magna--Blair had thought of that bust as a way to save hundreds of Sentinels who she put at risk by helping them leave the country. Well, now he was picking up where she left off.

Walking closer to the building, Blair pressed his thumb to the metal strip and clicked it. The tiny strip created an almost inaudible, odd, off-key warble that tended to make Sentinels search for the source. He'd used it to find runners in a crowd when they'd had vague tips come into the Sentinel division. Now he used it to find the two Sentinels he wanted to help.

Blair clicked it again as he walked toward the west corner of the building. A crane rumbled in the distance, unloading some ship even in the middle of the night. Blair clicked the metal bit in his pocket three times and then stopped, watching the shadows for any movement. A van was parked near the corner, and a mailbox had bright red graffiti all over it.

Blair bit his lip to keep himself from just calling out and telling them to hurry before all three of them got spotted. Somehow he didn't think Sentinels were going to trust him if he went around yelling for them to get out there.

He clicked the metal again, and something caught his attention. He deliberately turned, slowly, pulling his hand out of his pocket. Simon thought he was nuts for going undercover without a weapon, but Blair had been working undercover with Sentinels so long that he had learned to trust instinct, and not a gun.

And his instinct had come through for him again. Leaning against a building stood a man. Blair couldn't see him in the dark, but from the way the shadow cocked his head, Blair suspected that the man could see him. Yep, a Sentinel.

"Man, this is not safe for you. People have seen you. Just come with me back to my car, and I can get you somewhere safe," he whispered. It felt like familiar territory. "I promise not to turn you in to the Institute," Blair added, a promise he never would have made in the past.

The man took a hesitant step forward, and Blair stood still. With a burst of energy, the Sentinel darted towards Blair and grabbed his wrist, yanking him forward. Blair gasped, but didn't fight as he found himself shoved between the man and the building. This close, Blair could see the ripped clothing and smell both the unwashed body and the sharp stench of blood.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you. You just have to take some deep breaths and calm down."

Blair knew the Sentinel wasn't doing well with the calming down part when he gave a low growl.

"Hey, it's okay, there isn't any danger here," Blair reassured him, slowly reaching up and resting his hand on a trembling arm. The Sentinel started pushing on him, back towards Blair's car, and Blair let the man herd him backwards.

"Do you have a friend here? Man, I really don't want to leave someone behind if he's as freaked out as you are, but if you can get him to come out, we can all just get in my car and go," Blair said softly, well aware that the Sentinel might not be able to hear more than the tone of voice, and oh yeah, this really might be time to call for the Sentinel division.

"Hey, just say something so I know you're in there. Come on," Blair urged, his hand creeping into his pocket and fumbling for his phone. "It's okay, Sentinel; you're safe. Just focus on my voice."

Blair's fingertips found the plastic, and he closed his fist around it as the Sentinel looked down towards Blair in confusion. His blond hair had a streak of dried blood near the temple, and when he brought a hand up to touch Blair's cheek, the wrist was red and raw.

"Fuck," Blair breathed. This wasn't a runner, this was an escapee of some trafficker. Blair pulled his phone out and flipped it open. This was way beyond a meal and a couple of days in a safe room.

The Sentinel suddenly whirled, putting his back to Blair, and then backed up so that he pressed Blair between himself and the building so hard that Blair fumbled the phone. "Fuck," Blair cursed again as it clattered to the ground. Then he focused on the strong back that had trapped him and pressed on him so hard that he couldn't even take a deep breath.

"It's okay big guy. I'm just getting someone who can help. I know you've got to be hurting right now, and I know someone who can make that pain go away." Blair didn't add that they would also make the Sentinel's free choice go away, but right now, this man didn't have much free choice—he was injured and scared and functioning on just instinct.

Blair let his weight sag, struggling to squat down even as he slowly stroked the Sentinel's back. "It's okay," he crooned, wondering how much was getting through.

The Sentinel jerked and barked out the word "No!"

"Hey, just a phone. It's okay," Blair gasped, his air just about driven out of his body as the Sentinel slammed him back into the wall.

"No," the Sentinel repeated, his voice rougher, the word drawn out. He angled his head toward Blair. "Run," he whispered before he fell to one knee.

Jim walked down the street, ignoring a need to stroke his neck where the collar no longer sat. Once again, he could pass for any citizen. He still struggled with control, but that would return in time too; he had no doubt of that.

Detouring into an all-night café, Jim pulled out Keith's wallet with the trip money. A waitress smiled and nodded as she poured someone else's coffee.

"One coffee, black," Jim said as he passed her and wandered toward a booth.

Tomorrow he would collect some weapons, and then he'd hit the I-5 up to Bellingham, abandon the car somewhere that thieves would take it to pieces, and hike to the border. He'd considered taking the car all the way to Blaine, but he couldn't be sure thieves would get rid of his evidence there. He'd get into Canada, and then find Canada Highway 1.

Long before Peru, Jim had researched some of the tribes and their attitudes, and he figured on making a run for the Chehalis Indians or maybe even over to Kasabonika Lake Reservation. Despite what Sandburg thought, Jim had no intention of becoming prey for the Sentinel traffickers who bribed their way into Canada. If he could prove that he had a value to the society, Canada was famous for losing extradition paperwork even if someone did find out that he was an escaped Sentinel from America.

"Here you go, hon," the waitress appeared with the coffee and a menu. Jim handed her a bill and smiled at her attempts to flirt.

"Anything look good?" she asked, leaning on his table.

"Just some apple pie," he answered as he handed the menu back. She shrugged and disappeared.

Jim blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then blinked again. "No," he whispered to himself as the black panther came through the wall of the café.

He opened his eyes, and the cat was still there, pacing and sticking his nose in the air as he scented something that made him growl. Jim gripped the coffee cup and tried to ignore it as the cat leapt up to the counter where the waitress was now hitting on another late-night customer.

"Incacha," Jim whispered so softly that not even another Sentinel would have heard, "This is not fair. You can't send me away and then expect me to believe in this shit," he said as he forced his eyes away from the imaginary predator.

Twice he'd seen that cat before: once when he'd laid in the jungle dying after burying his men and the second time when Incacha had fed him some shit that the army definitely would have disapproved of before they went on their 'spirit walk.'

"The cat is your guide," Incacha said seriously as they walked through a blue jungle, which was Jim's first clue that he was stoned out of his mind. Back then, Jim had studied the animal as it leapt from a pile of boulders into the path ahead of them.

"The cat is a hallucination," Jim disagreed. Incacha looked at him with disappointment, and Jim tried to hide just how much that bothered him.

"The cat is part of your soul. You have chosen the form, but you cannot fail if you follow your soul, Enquiri," Incacha had said, calling Jim by the Chopec name with which Jim had just been gifted.

"I always do what I think is right, Incacha, you know that," Jim said as he turned to his companion. The discussion of failure… that wasn't where he wanted to go. He'd failed at being his father's son. He'd failed his men and had to bury their bodies because of it. He wouldn't fail as the Sentinel of the Chopec.

Incacha shook his head. "You follow your head, Enquiri. Sometimes you follow your heart. You must learn to follow your soul."

The drug-induced trip had simply gotten stranger from that point with temples rising out of the jungle floor and him tripping over a timber wolf that really had no business in a rain forest. Jim had woken the next morning with a hangover from hell and a new resolve to never again touch drugs.

"Not working," Jim muttered angrily as the cat snarled and paced the length of the counter. The cat looked at him with the same disappointment Incacha had in his eyes on that day long ago. Jim put his cup down so fast that the hot coffee slopped out onto his fingers. Ignoring the waitress who was coming over with his pie, Jim got up and left. He had a plan. The plan did not involve imaginary cats.

As he hurried back to his hotel room, Jim tried to ignore the black shadow that followed him, tail whipping angrily from side to side.

FOURTEEN  
***  
Jim turned the television up another notch. It helped him ignore the rumbles of the cat pacing the corner of the cheap hotel room. Shit, he hadn't slept more than three or four hours, and now he had to go check out a couple of gun shops. He had his eye on one across from a cafe. It seemed to have a lot of high-powered hunting weapons, and from what Jim had seen when he did a little window shopping, the security system was old. With the one obvious exception, the plan was going well. Grab some weapons and ammo, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

The cat screamed its displeasure, and Jim jumped.

"Don't you start. If I go flinching at sounds no one else can hear, this is going to be the shortest run in history," he complained to the cat. He got up and headed for the bathroom. The cat screamed again.

"You know, if I hadn't spent so much time thinking of Incacha lately, this would not be a problem," Jim complained as he started shaving. He could mark that one up to Sandburg, too. After all, he'd planned on just playing good little Sentinel so long that even the bitchy head of the half-way house gave up on the chains, but with Blair there in the background, Jim had to accelerate the time table. Blair had forced him into a corner where he'd been forced to fake the bond, and forced to hang on to the memory of his lost companion. God he was tired. The cat leaped into the bathtub and sprawled out.

"You wouldn't be so happy if I turned that shower on," Jim commented as he pulled the razor over his whiskers. The cat laid its ears back.

"And talking to an imaginary cat is not a sign of good mental health," Jim mused. "Maybe I'm getting pot fumes from the room." God knows the room had been used for drugs and sex more often than sleeping.

The cat jumped out of the tub and stalked out to the room, belly low to the ground in a classic attack pose.

Jim finished shaving and grabbed his shirt from yesterday off the towel rack. When he headed back into the main room, the cat was pacing near the door, a dark rumble in his chest.

"Feel free to disappear back into my subconscious," Jim told the animal as he pulled on socks and shoes. He'd left most of his gear in Keith's car, so all he had to do was tuck Keith's weapon into his belt and pull on his jacket. Unfortunately, the cat had other plans as he crouched near the door and waited for Jim.

Jim opened the door and headed for the car. The cat leaped past him with such a furious roar that Jim flinched. Fuck. Immediately he bent, pretending to look at his foot as though he'd stepped on something. Keeping his head bent, he used his hearing to check for any witnesses.

"Stupid cat," Jim whisper-growled before he stood up. Ignoring the cat's angry response, Jim pulled out the keys and opened Keith's car. The cat jumped on the hood. Jim stared out the windshield for a second, his fists squeezing the steering wheel as he fought the rising frustration. He had a plan, and the overgrown hairball was not part of the plan.

"Fine, we'll check out what you want to check out," Jim finally sighed. Whatever strange trip he was on, he obviously needed to do something before the cat distracted him into a mistake. The cat jumped down to the street and began trotting down the sidewalk. Jim started the car and headed down the road toward the warehouse district.

Jim parked the car near the docks. He'd lost track of the cat, but somehow he didn't think he had gotten rid of it yet. His luck hadn't been that good lately. Locking the car, he walked casually down the street. A pair of dock workers passed him, laughing and talking in Spanish, but Jim filtered out their voices as he scanned the area.

In the distance, two ships nestled up to the wharf: The Black Whale and the Choyang Zenith. The two workers angled off toward the Black Whale. More dock workers' voices competed with the sound of heavy machinery and trucks in that direction, but Jim turned away from the ships.

A faint snarl caught Jim's attention and he turned in time to see a black tail vanish behind a building. He wandered parallel to the water, past a block where a warehouse had burned, leaving a charred scar and a few steel girders pointing up to the sky. Construction and demolition equipment was already parked at the site, so it wouldn't take long for someone to put a new warehouse here. For now, the area was largely unused, only one large building nearby.

When he reached the burnt remains, Jim started feeling something prickling at his senses, like little ant feet crawling over his skin. He stopped and let his eyes scan the warehouses a little farther back from the waterline. A burly man leaned against a door of the largest warehouse, staring at Jim, and Jim forced his eyes away as he casually walked by.

Ignoring the danger of zoning, Jim pushed his hearing, visualizing himself listening past the metal walls of the warehouse. The building was huge, and at first, he could hear only the ragged breaths of someone panting and others sleeping. He could hear one person snoring, and a woman weeping gently. They were not the sounds Jim expected to hear in a warehouse.

Jim turned his back on his target and focused on the burnt building. Let the watchman think that Jim was some construction inspector or owner or something. Turning away made it a little harder to focus, but Jim could suddenly hear the clink of chain. It was a familiar sound.

"Asshole," a voice cursed weakly, and Jim cocked his head to better focus on the second floor of the warehouse.

"Comfortable?" another voice asked, and Jim could hear the sarcastic sneer in that voice.

"More comfortable than any Sentinel you strung up like this," Blair answered. Blair. Jim tightened his hands into fists and forced himself to wander the edge of the burned warehouse. Why was it that everything came back to Sandburg these days? Okay, sentry out front, probably that meant more inside. Jim certainly heard enough heartbeats from inside. And all he had was Keith's service weapon.

"Sentinels are sturdier than you do-gooders think. I've seen them hang for days, barely breathing, and then when you cut them down, they come out fighting. Sentinels are unpredictable, but you aren't. You'll hang there until your lungs compress and every breath is a struggle. Your muscles will spasm and swell and finally go numb, but all that swelling will make your lungs close in even more. And just when you're ready to pass out, I'll cut you down and watch you flop on the ground without the strength to even lift your head." The man laughed, and Jim could feel the rage swell up inside. Where the hell were the cops?

"You'll never get away with this Kincaid," Blair warned, but Jim could hear how the kid struggled for breath. He could imagine Blair strung up so that he could only stand on his toes. His muscles would eventually cramp, and as his arms bore more and more weight, he'd suffocate. It was an ugly death. Jim paced to the end of the burnt area and then turned and scanned the whole neighborhood. A second thug stood near the far corner of the warehouse. He didn't want to study the warehouse too closely, but he'd bet money there were sentries on the upper floors, watching out the dirty windows.

"I think I will, Sandburg. If you were on a case, I might worry, but I've been listening to the police chatter. And I know something you don't know, Mr. Natural. No one has even noticed you're gone. It does make me wonder what you were doing with two of my escaped Sentinels in the middle of the night."

"They aren't yours. Sentinels don't belong to anyone."

Jim could hear the fury and certainty in Blair's voice.

"Sentinels belong to whoever can bring them under control. You just don't like that I'm moving in on your territory," the other man, Kincaid, laughed. "You're just a tool of the dictatorial government that has hijacked our great democracy. At least here, these Sentinels will do some good; they'll bring money for the cause. With the money this bunch brings, I will buy enough guns for my army and finally restore freedom to the people."

"If you're really about saving people, you wouldn't do this to them," Blair argued. Oh Chief, how about worrying about yourself, Jim thought.

"They're tools. And the life I deliver them to is no different than the one you would deliver them to," Kincaid said, and Jim could hear shuffling and a grunt. He clenched his jaw as he realized that Kincaid was touching Blair, and Blair was doing his best to escape the touch. Jim started back towards his car. He couldn't take these guys on alone, so he needed to find a phone.

"The Institute does the best they can. They want to help Sentinels," Blair snapped, and Jim noticed that the man's description of the Institute had changed some since they'd last met. "They would never sell a Sentinel to someone who would turn them into a sex slave or abuse them."

"Aren't you the clever little self-deceiver? What do you call the way the system assigns Sentinels to people they've never met? What do you think a bond is, Sandburg? Whether a Sentinel is in my system or yours, they're nothing more than sex slaves; it's their destiny. Their instincts are designed to make them perfect slaves."

Jim cringed at the cold description that struck a little too close. Every time he'd laid down with Keith, he'd felt that pull to let himself focus on Keith, to allow himself to bond with the man. Before Incacha, Jim hadn't understood the power of the bond, but the fact was that it made it almost impossible to ignore the companion. Hell, here he was months later and thousands of miles away, and he had followed that damn imaginary panther because he could visualize Incacha's disapproval.

Of course, following Incacha's cat had led him to Blair, and Jim had no intention of even following that train of thought. If he did, he would have to admit that either he had sensed Blair in trouble from miles away or that Incacha's crazy talk about spirit guides had some credibility, and Jim really wasn't prepared to accept either theory. He was sticking to the belief that the animal was drug-induced.

"They aren't slaves," Blair disagreed.

"Such perfect self-deception," Kincaid repeated. "They are slaves, and you're part of the system that enslaves them, which is why it always pissed me off that you worked so hard to catch me. What I do is no different than what you do, Detective Sandburg."

"We're nothing alike. I'm not some narcissist who thinks he can use everyone else to get the power he wants. And that's all this is... for all your talk about restoring democracy, you're really just searching for power because you're a pathetic little man."

Flesh hit flesh, and Jim could feel his blood pressure rise. If he thought he had a chance in hell, Jim would rush the damn building himself right now.

"Now, play nice Detective Sandburg. Who knows, you might even survive this. Most of my clients prefer Sentinels; their senses do make them the perfect whores, but I know one or two that might like someone less willing."

Jim was so far away that he was surprised he could still hear the conversation, but his hearing seemed locked on that point behind him where he was leaving Blair alone. He gritted his teeth.

"You're scum."

Kincaid laughed again, the sound scraping across Jim's nerves. "I'm a revolutionary. It's better than being a dead do-gooder." Jim was nearly at the car and he broke into a trot. He'd seen a pay phone back by the bar on the corner.

"Long after you're dead and buried, I'm going to be remembered for saving this country from a threat others ignored. I'm giving this country back to the people who built it and made it strong, and you, Mr. Natural, are not one who will inherit this new world I'm going to create."

Jim opened the door and stood for a second. The voices were at the edge of his hearing, far beyond his normal range, and if he got in his car, he knew he'd lose that final connection to Blair. But if he didn't go, he couldn't do Blair any good. He stood, waiting for Blair's response.

"Dream on, Kincaid. You're never going to be any more than a pimple on the butt of the world, and no one is going to notice when someone eventually pops it."

Flesh hit flesh again, and Jim got in the car. The way the kid's mouth ran, he wasn't going to survive long enough to suffocate.

Jim didn't actually pay attention to the streets as he drove back toward the bar and the phone. Fuck. Whatever Blair had gotten into, it was bad. Yeah, Jim would admit to a fantasy or two about chaining the kid up with the same chains Sam Nunez had used on him, but even at his darkest moment, Jim never would have even imagined what Kincaid threatened. For the first time, Jim seriously considered that Sentinel laws allowed him to snap the man's neck with no consequences. After all, as a Sentinel, he was supposed to be irrational when it came to the tribe's safety.

However, Jim had never allowed himself to give in to his irrational side, and doing it now wasn't going to help anyone. He just needed to keep it together a little longer. He'd make a quick call and then get on with his plan, no more harm than an hour's delay.

Stopping the car outside the bar, Jim trotted to the phone. He pulled one sleeve of his jacket down far enough to prevent him from leaving any prints. If someone identified him and freed Keith too quickly, the plan was going to be more than just delayed. He dialed with the knuckle of one finger.

"911 emergency, what's your emergency?" a calm voice asked.

"There's a warehouse down near wharf 93, across from a burnt warehouse. They're keeping Sentinels in there," he reported quickly.

"How do you know?"

Well, Jim wasn't going to be telling her he followed his imaginary friend down to the docks and then used his senses.

"I work in the area. I saw two of them outside, in bad shape," Jim improvised. From the whimpering and crying inside, and from the fact that Blair had been trying to help a couple escapees, it was close to the truth, and Jim found that lies worked best when they were close to the truth. "They were pretty bad off, and these guys came out and dragged them away."

"And how did you identify them as Sentinels? Were they collared?"

Jim ground his teeth. If they'd been collared, they'd be from the Institute with guardians. "No, but they were flinching and hiding in the shadows. Look, I've seen Sentinels before, and I know what they look like."

"So, you saw two Sentinels. Can you describe the men who you saw take them inside?" the woman smoothly changed the subject. Jim glanced around. He needed to get off this phone quickly or he risked the officers showing up here.

"One was six foot or six-one. Dark hair, Caucasian but with a slightly darker tone, a couple of days growth on a beard, 220 pounds," Jim said quickly, describing the man at the door. "The other was five-ten or so, reddish-blond hair with a tribal tattoo around his wrist." Jim closed his eyes and imagined the second goon who'd stood on the corner.

"Can you describe the Sentinels?" the woman asked.

"I don't have time for this; I have to get back to work." Jim hung up the phone and walked back to his car. That should be enough. Part of Jim whispered that he should get in the car and go back to the plan. It was still early enough to do the job at the gun shop, and he could be on the road to Canada either tonight or tomorrow morning. It was the logical plan.

Instead, Jim drove the area. Kincaid had chosen well. On the west, the only neighbor was the burned out building, and during the week, the construction equipment probably helped hide any sounds, not that anyone other than a Sentinel would hear them. To the south, a chain link fence and security cameras protected a lot where extra equipment was parked. The west had a wide road. Jim parked his car on the next street over and walked to the warehouse north of the one where Kincaid was holding Sandburg.

With the cover of the smaller building, Jim could focus on studying the layout, and it didn't make him any more comfortable. Security cameras sat on the top of the building, which wasn't unusual for this area, but it was unusual considering that the rest of the building seemed largely unused. Unlike most of the warehouses, dust covered the loading bays and the windows were covered in grime. Focusing in, Jim could barely make out bars behind the dirt. Something glinted out of the side of his eye, and Jim could see the flash from a weapon in one of the second-story windows.

"Kincaid," a voice called. "The cops are dispatching a unit. Someone saw the two runners and called it in."

"Fuck," Kincaid swore. "We'll have to carry on this conversation a little later, Mr. Natural," Kincaid said in a voice that sounded friendly even while it sent cold shivers down Jim's back. Now that he focused, he could hear Blair's strained wheezing.

"Cut Mr. Natural down or our fun is going to end a little too quickly," Kincaid ordered. Jim could hear the fast footsteps out of the room, and then a body hit the ground. Oh yeah, Jim wanted to break every bone in Kincaid's body. The very strength of that desire drove Jim back to his car. He couldn't lose control now.

Jim waited almost an hour, but the only thing that had happened was that the warehouse fell silent. Jim recognized the odd hum of top-of-the-line white noise generators from his FBI training at the Institute. He struggled to filter the noise out, but he could only hear brief snatches of sound from inside the warehouse: a woman pleading, two men swearing over a poker game, a radio playing classical music.

A police car finally arrived on scene, the black and white unit driving slowly past the warehouse. Jim took a bite of the sandwich he'd pulled out of his supplies and tried to look like a dock worker at lunch. It must have worked because the Sentinel sitting in the passenger seat of the car didn't look twice at him. She scanned the buildings and cocked her head to the side, listening.

The officer slowed to a stop, and she rolled the window down as he got out of the car, one hand on his weapon.

"You have anything?" he asked as he walked around and stood next to her door.

"Nothing," she answered. "Just the guy down the street eating."

"I hate these prank calls," the officer sighed as he walked around the car back to the driver's side.

Jim silently cursed them, willing the Sentinel to focus her hearing long enough to notice the abnormal buzz. However, the officer got back in the car and drove slowly away.

"Hey, you want to have Chinese for lunch?" the Sentinel asked as the car passed Jim going back toward the street. Jim felt an overwhelming urge to start Keith's car and ram them, but that wouldn't exactly help Sandburg. Shit, without Sandburg, these keystone cops never would have caught him.

Sandburg. Jim glanced at the building again and started the car to head back to the bar.

"911 emergency, what's your emergency?" the voice asked. Different voice, but the calm cadence was exactly the same.

"There's a cop in trouble, Blair Sandburg," Jim said. "I'm down by Wharf 93, and there's a warehouse across from a burned out building. I saw them drag him in there."

"Who?" she asked, her fingers typing.

"Two guys. One was six foot or six-one. Dark hair, Caucasian, 220 pounds. The other was five-ten or so, reddish-blond hair with a tribal tattoo around his wrist."

Jim suddenly heard another voice in the background. "Keep the crackpot on the line, we have a car in the area," a man whispered. Jim hung up the phone and headed for the car. He wouldn't do Blair any good if he got caught.

Okay, it was time to take more drastic action.

FIFTEEN  
***  
Jim stood at the entrance to Major Crimes. This wasn't his department or even his building, but common sense told him to run for the hills before anyone figured out that he wasn't playing good little Sentinel anymore. However, he couldn't do it. He couldn't walk away from Sandburg. It had almost killed him to wait until Monday when Sandburg's boss would be back in, and the only thing that had made the waiting bearable had been sleeping next to the small warehouse where he could hear Blair's breathing once they shut down the white noise generators.

"What?" bellowed a voice. Rafe cracked the door open.

"Got a guy here who thinks he knows something about Blair."

"Get him in here," called a deep voice. Rafe threw open the door, and Jim walked into the lions' den. If this guy recognized him or spotted his senses, Jim was throwing away his last chance at freedom.

"Simon Banks," the man offered as he stood and held out his hand. He was huge, a towering figure even as he leaned over the desk.

"Joe," Jim offered a fake name in return.

"He does some work with Walker in Burglary over at the two-nine," Rafe said in the way of introductions.

"Snitch?" Banks asked, his eyes searching Jim.

"I tell him things I might hear from time to time," Jim answered almost truthfully. "But he's out of town right now, and I'm hearing some stuff on the street that I don't like."

"I don't know how much Walker pays," Banks said as he reached for his wallet, "but you help me get my guy back, and I will make it worth your while."

"Fifty," Jim answered quickly. He needed the cash, and a snitch who didn't ask for money would raise too much suspicion. Even so, he felt dirty as he accepted three twenty dollar bills from Banks.

"What do you have?"

"I was down at the docks, and some of the workers are whispering about Sentinels, a couple were wandering, confused and looking all wild-eyed."

"And you think Sandburg got wind of it? He would have gone to his old division captain, or he would have told us. This sounds like information for Rick Yaden."

Damn. Blair's old boss, no way would he not remember Jim. "That isn't the information. The word is some long-haired hippy type was trying to help them. Had his arm around one when the other dock workers were busy hiding," Jim said, making it up as he went along.

"That'd be Blair," Banks said fondly.

"Apparently they think it all ended well enough because some well-dressed guys came out and got all three of them."

"And now Blair's missing. You wouldn't be the guy who tried to call in with information on him yesterday?" Banks asked.

"Look," Jim said carefully, "I'm giving you the straight story here. If you act, fine. If you don't..." Jim let his words trail off, but the chances were that Banks wouldn't guess Jim's real thoughts. If the idiots didn't act on the information this time, Jim was going to commandeer large quantities of munitions and start blowing shit up until he got Blair out of there.

"Okay," Banks held up his hands in surrender, "I want the information, but I have to bring Yaden in on this."

"Yaden and I have had words. He may not remember them, but I'm not working with him, so if you call him, I'm out of here." Jim crossed his arms and gave Banks his most implacable expression, the one that had always frightened the recruits.

"Damn it," Banks cursed. "If there are Sentinels involved, that's his department. We don't handle Sentinel cases."

"I overheard the guys from The Black Whale. It's docked on the south end. They described a warehouse across from some burned out building. You bring Yaden in, and you can handle it from there," Jim turned to head out the office. It was almost a relief to have something force him away because the need to go into that warehouse had crawled under his skin.

"Would you know the sailors if you saw them again?" Banks quickly asked.

"In a second," Jim lied. "Look, Sandburg has a good reputation, and I'll go down to the docks with you to point these guys out, but Yaden... I'm not working with him."

"You really have issues with Yaden, huh?" Banks sighed and rubbed his hand. "If there are Sentinels, we'll have to pull him in. We don't have the resources to deal with traumatized Sentinels, but for now, we don't have any proof. We'll play this your way."

Jim nodded and turned toward the door.

"But Joe," Banks warned, his voice suddenly cold. "If you're playing us, if you waste my time when my man is out there, I will throw you so far under the jail, you'll never see the light of day again."

"Fair enough," Jim answered. "But I really hope this isn't your guy. If it is, Sentinel traffickers don't have much reason to keep him alive." He watched Banks, praying that this would make the man move a little faster because every second they were here, Blair was still in Kincaid's hands.

"Knowing Sandburg, he'll talk them into something," Banks muttered. Jim just hoped he was right. He just hoped Blair could hang on a little longer.

"Oh, and from the word on the street, these traffickers have an in with police... police radios, maybe even an inside guy or two," Jim said. Banks' face turned dark at the accusation, but he didn't deny it immediately.

"Rafe, get Brown and we'll check this out. If we find anything, we'll call in for back up. Get a secured radio."

"Yes, sir," Rafe answered as he hurried out into the bullpen.

"You want to follow us down to the wharf," Simon asked. Jim shook his head. He hadn't driven Keith's car with its police parking sticker into Central station. Keith's car and his weapon were hidden a couple of blocks from the warehouse, but at this point, Jim wouldn't be surprised if they were both stolen before Jim got back to them. He still had a week, though, and losing his supplies wouldn't be the end of the plan.

"I took the bus. If I could just ride with you," he suggested as both of them headed out of the office.

"No problem," Banks agreed as he pulled on his jacket and came around the desk. "Brown, Rafe, you follow in your car," he called. A second African-American in a horrible striped shirt had appeared in the squad room.

"You got it. And, Simon, we'll find Blair," the new man, Brown, said.

"Yeah, we will," Banks agreed grimly. He headed for the elevator, and Jim silently followed. At least one thing was going right; Blair had co-workers who obviously cared about him. For the first time since he'd heard Blair's voice inside the warehouse, Jim felt like there was an honest chance to get Blair out.

The drive to the wharf was silent. Banks smoked his cigar with the window cracked, but Jim still had to focus on keeping his scent dialed down. It'd been a long time since someone did something that Sentinel-unfriendly around him.

"There," Jim said when the dock came into sight. "Stop the car here."

Banks pulled the car to the curb and Jim got out next to the equipment parking lot. "The workers said they saw those guys pulling Blair into that building behind me," Jim said as he turned towards Banks. "You might want to have your guys park behind the smaller warehouse on the north side."

"I thought you said these workers were hiding," Banks said as he narrowed his eyes. "Where?"

"Plenty of places to hide if a person is desperate enough," Jim answered as he looked around. The place was fairly open with the exception of the warehouse to the north. Simon snorted as he picked up the radio.

"Brown, head to the north," he ordered as he put his car into gear and drove away, circling the block before heading for the north side himself. By the time Banks parked the car, Brown and Rafe were already there, peering around the corner at the warehouse.

"Something's stinky in Denmark," Brown commented. "Top notch security but no sign the building's being used."

"There's more," Jim said as he ducked down below the level of a stack of packing crates. He followed it down to the far end and then lay in the weeds, near where he'd slept last night. When he turned, he saw Banks had followed him.

"There," Jim said as he pointed toward the top row of windows.

"What am I looking for?" Banks whispered.

"Gun flash." Jim watched the window, using Sentinel sight to see the sniper casually sweeping the landscape with his rifle.

"Fuck," Banks swore when the sniper's arc brought the gun back in their direction for the third time. "You sure that's a gun?"

"I was a Ranger," Jim answered truthfully. "I know gun flash."

"How did you know to look if you just overheard some dock workers?" Jim's guts tightened, but he ignored the feeling and focused on the building. Whatever Banks planned to do, he needed to focus on Blair right now. They both did.

"How did you know where to look, Joe?" Banks demanded. Jim tensed. He had to tell at least some of the truth, and then hope he could get away before they figured out the rest.

"I could hear Sandburg in there," Jim admitted. "He was fighting with someone called Kincaid. Kincaid said that the Sentinels in there will be sold to finance his army, and Blair said some things that made Kincaid hurt him."

"Enhanced hearing?" Banks asked as he crouched next to Jim. The man visually relaxed at that news, which was ironic since he had to be at least considering that Jim was a Sentinel. Some people had one or two enhanced senses, but it wasn't the norm. "I've heard some guys will have their taste buds surgically removed to circumvent Sentinel genes from kicking in," he commented blandly, and Jim glanced over.

"No surgery," Jim answered as he refocused on the warehouse. "Shit, there are a lot of people in there. Two-three dozen at least."

"Sentinels?"

"No way to tell," Jim sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "And no way to tell which is Sandburg until he starts talking."

"If he can," Simon said quietly.

"If he can't, someone is going to pay," Jim warned quietly. Simon shot him a curious look.

"For one of Walker's snitches, you seem pretty concerned about a missing cop from Major Crimes."

"I ran into Sandburg before," Jim said carefully. He'd all but outted himself already, but he could freely admit that not even the threat of getting put back into the Sentinel Institute could make him leave.

"He's a good man," Banks said thoughtfully.

"Yes, he is. And he's smart. He'll figure out a way to stay alive until we get him back." Jim said the words with as much conviction as he could. Leaving this morning, riding the bus to Central, had been the hardest morning of his life. He had lived every moment with the knowledge that Blair could be dying that very second.

"Keep an ear out, I'm going to check in with the others," Simon said as he moved slowly back, his movements suggesting a surprising grace considering his size. Jim opened his hearing and let everything flow in, knowing he was risking a zone, but willing to take the risk.

"He in there?" Brown asked when Banks got back to the shelter of the small warehouse.

"Joe thinks so. Joe also thinks we're looking at two or three dozen people inside, so we have a well-defended structure, either that or a lot of traumatized Sentinels, and neither scenario is particularly safe for us or for Blair."

"Joe thinks?" Rafe interrupted.

"He's definitely got enhanced hearing. Either that, or he's lying through his eye teeth, and if that's the case, he's going to regret ever being born," Banks threatened.

"So we're trusting him?" Brown asked.

"Until we have some other information, yes. I don't see that he gets anything out of lying. So, we're assuming that he's telling the truth."

"In that case, there's no way to grab Sandburg before someone puts a bullet in him, and not even Sandburg could talk a bullet into stopping." Jim could hear both the admiration and the frustration in Brown's voice. These people cared about Sandburg.

"And what about the other senses?" Rafe whispered.

"Maybe the conflict with Yaden is..." Brown's words trailed off, and Jim figured the man was probably silently mouthing the truth.

"Do we call Yaden?" Rafe asked.

Silence. Jim held his breath, trying to decide what to do now that he had a choice between his freedom or Blair's life. He heard the voice from inside he'd been waiting for. Blair cried out. The part of his brain the military had trained advised him to break for freedom, but he didn't move. He wouldn't abandon Blair.

Simon sighed. "He's not out of control, so right now, we have plausible deniability. I'm taking a chance that he'll help us get Blair back."

"Simon, how are we going to play this?"

"We get someone inside so that when we blow the front doors, our inside man can get Blair to safety or maybe just distract Kincaid."

"Kincaid?" Brown demanded. "Garrett Kincaid? The crackpot with the Sunrise Patriots?"

The three of them fell silent for a moment. Jim hadn't heard of the group, but between Brown's horrified reaction and Blair's weak cries as leather hit skin, he found himself digging his fingers into the dirt to control an urge to rip them to pieces with his bare hands. He had the training.

"That's a dangerous job. Kincaid's a whack job, and if he catches someone inside, he's going to put a bullet through Blair's brain."

"I can't ask any of you--" Simon started.

"I'll do it," Rafe and Brown both offered at the same time.

Banks paused, and Jim remembered that moment when as a commander you had to send someone into a situation like this. And the fact was that local cops weren't trained to deal with this. If someone didn't distract Kincaid, Blair was dead the minute a cop hit the warehouse door.

"We need uniformed officers, and let's get Joel and his guys out here to blow the front doors. Henri, I'm sorry, but Rafe's scores are higher than yours, Rafe's going in." Simon turned to the radio and started calling in the back-up that would save Blair, and that would eventually capture Jim again. Jim headed back toward the trio of cops.

He wondered if Keith would still have custody. If so, Jim figured he'd be spending a lot of time chained to the wall. Right now, he couldn't even blame the kid because after a few days staring at those blank walls, Keith was probably more into his own anger than really thinking about what Jim had said. Of course, it might not matter; Jim would probably get the Alex Barnes special: locked in a little room with a video game as company.

"I'll go in," Jim said as he came around the edge of the building. "Brown's right. If your man gets caught, Rafe and Blair are both dead long before the backup can get here."

"This isn't your business," Simon said with narrowed eyes.

Jim ignored him and grabbed a chunk of broken brick, bending down to the concrete where he drew a red square. "I can hear guards walking patrols here, here, here and here." Jim drew lines inside the square neatly boxing it. And there are stationary guards here and here at the windows." Jim drew x's.

"They have it covered." Banks growled.

"The front is covered just as well," Jim agreed. "That's why Rafe's not going in, I am."

"What?! No way. I may not know what's going on with you and Sandburg, but you are not to go anywhere near that building. They'd spot you in a second."

"I know," Jim answered. "I don't plan on trying to hide."

"And why the hell wouldn't they just shoot Sandburg and you?"

"Because," Jim said, "I'm going to give them what they want, a Sentinel."

"Fuck," Brown swore softly.

"Joe," Simon said, his voice low and dangerous, "I don't know what game you're playing, but if you get Sandburg hurt, I will personally skin you alive, Sentinel or no."

Jim smiled. "If I get Sandburg hurt, someone needs to skin me," Jim agreed. "But I can get in there; it will at least let him know that someone's out here, and it'll distract them from hurting him any more."

"I hate to be the voice of reason here, but we don't know if Blair is..." Brown stopped when both Rafe and Banks both glared him into silence.

"He's alive," Jim answered. "He's hurting, and every second I'm out here, he's hurting more, but he's alive. I go in there, and it will distract them long enough for you to get backup."

"Joe, what's really going on here?" Simon asked. "If you're a Sentinel, I don't have any jurisdiction over you. I'll have to call Yaden, but I won't stand in your way. I just have to know what your story is because this is my man's life hanging in the balance here."

Jim stared at the warehouse. He had the feeling if he walked right now, Banks wouldn't stand in his way. Rafe just looked confused. For a second, Jim allowed himself one last fantasy of Canada, of reaching some tribe and finding a companion and lover, of being a member of a tribe that respected him. Then he let go of the fantasy.

"I'm Jim, not Joe," Jim said quietly. "Captain James Joseph Ellison. Blair was the cop who finally brought me in, and he was a good man, a caring man. I won't walk away and let him die in there for trying to help other Sentinels."

"You're the Sentinel," Rafe said. "You're the one who ran for a year, Blair talked about you."

"Ellison. The one Blair requested. The one who turned him down," Banks said flatly.

Jim nodded. "Just stay out of my way once I let the Sentinel instincts take over. I haven't done this before, and I don't know how easily I'll be able to get control back," Jim warned. Simon opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again as Jim focused his hearing. Now that he knew where to find Blair, he zeroed in on the heavy breathing punctuated with sobs. The sound of leather hitting flesh startled Jim, and he jerked at the sound of Blair's scream.

Jim let his anger rise up and wash away the part of his brain that considered angles and approached and strategy. To succeed, to distract them and put himself in a position where he could defend Blair, he had to become the one thing he hated more than all the Sentinel laws combined... he had be become an out of control Sentinel raging and focused only on finding his companion.

The emotions swelled up, and Jim allowed them to batter away his control. They were hurting his Blair. His. His companion. Jim summoned every sensory memory of that hour with Blair: the blue eyes that had looked at him with this trust as he held Blair close, the way he smiled, the way his body lay limp under Jim's. Blair screamed again, and Jim could feel the primitive surge crash into him.

"Mine," he growled low.

"Jim?" Simon asked. Jim swung his head toward the tall captain, his pupils black as his eyes searched for every detail.

"I'll fucking rip them to pieces for doing that to him," Jim snapped, and Simon took a step back. Jim shook his head and looked at Simon again. "If I don't make it, tell Blair that I'd rather go out this way than go back into the Institute. Don't you dare let him blame himself," Jim begged.

"You have my word, Jim," Simon vowed. Jim turned toward the warehouse.

"Blair," Jim breathed as he turned control over to the hungry predator in his chest. Without thinking, he started running, his body low as he covered ground as fast as he could, his senses tunneled forward.

The rear door posed a temporary problem, and he slammed his shoulder into it so hard that the metal shivered. With a growl, Jim yanked at the handle, shaking his head in frustration as it didn't immediately give. He jerked harder, pounding his shoulder against the door between each pull.

Something clicked, and suddenly the door swung open, Jim flung himself into the dark, his hands reaching for the figure standing in the shadow. His hands almost closed over the guy's throat when electricity ran through him, making him howl and drop to the ground. Jim twisted and snarled as he finally found the wires and pulled the barbs out of his skin. Turning toward the attacker, Jim dived forward, grabbing the man's neck as they both went down to the concrete.

Another shot of electricity poured into him, and this time both he and the man under him screamed in pain with him. The body under him struggled to wiggle away, and Jim landed a punch on the man's sternum that left him gasping and helpless. Then Jim sprang up and backed away as more men came running. Ignoring the men, Jim cocked his head and charged away from the group, toward a staircase.

"Fuck, intruder heading for second floor. It's a Sentinel."

SIXTEEN  
***  
Jim heard the words of warning echo throughout the building, repeated by dozens of radios, but that sound wasn't as loud as the pained whine above him.

A body appeared before him, and Jim neatly tossed the man off the stairs to the floor below without even slowing.

"Get the tranqs, tranqs!" The words echoed against the metal walls, and some part of Jim knew that he should do something, but right now, all he could focus on was the sound that called him.

He lowered his head and ran as hard as he could, the catwalk under him trembling with every step as he closed in on his target. A bee sting caught in him the back of the arm, and Jim swiped it away without pausing.

By the time he reached the hallway leading to the second floor offices, Jim struggled against the blasts of light that tried to distract him from his goal. Shaking his head like a dog trying to shed water, Jim bulled forward, his hand closing on a doorknob.

"He's at the office; he's already tranqed."

"Don't damage him. Give it some time," another multiplied voice shouted.

Jim stopped and cocked his head, struggling to find the source. Shaking his head again, he shoved his shoulder into the door, growling when it didn't open. The second time, he turned the knob and shoved, tumbling into the room so that one hand on the floor kept him from collapsing.

"It's okay, Sentinel, everything's okay," a voice crooned. Jim growled as he scanned the room. The floor twisted, and Jim widened his crouch to keep from falling over. Blair. There.

Jim surged forward and took his position above Blair, who lay on the cold ground, his body contorted. Watching the other men suspiciously, their bodies waving in and out of focus, Jim started carefully pulling on Blair, straightening his arms and smoothing his hair.

"Jim?" Blair muttered through a swollen jaw.

"Oh, lookie here, the do-gooder has a Sentinel of his very own. You see, that's what really gets me about you cops. You put on this whole show about us not taking Sentinels, but then you enslave them yourselves. I guess as long as you're the master, you don't mind slavery too much."

"Jim isn't a slave," Blair objected. He struggled to get up from the ground, the air wheezing in his congested lungs, but he failed. He sank back down with a small, defeated whine that made Jim fist his companion's shirt. They had to leave. Jim pulled Blair so that Blair's back rested against him, but when Jim tried to pull them both upright, the room spun and he crouched back down.

A man stepped closer, and Jim struck out with a leg, hearing the satisfying crack of shattering bone before he crouched once again over Blair.

"Stay back," the first man ordered as others came into the room. "He's a beauty, Blair. He's so good at playing bodyguard, I may even keep him for a while."

"Leave him the hell alone." Blair nearly whispered the words, his voice failing him as his heartbeat slowed.

"You aren't in much shape to tell me anything, and your little Sentinel is all too easy to control. Although really, he's not that little."

The man stepped closer, and Jim tensed to attack, however then something filled the air, something cold and bitter. Jim stood up, and the movement made the whole room tilt so that he fell sideways until he crashed into the wall.

"Jim," Blair's voice warbled from a distance.

"Poor little Sentinel fall down go boom," the first man said, the words chasing Jim through the lights that stained his senses. The voice sounded soft and encouraging, but some part of Jim knew those words, fed on the anger they brought. Kincaid, Jim thought to himself. He blinked long enough to see the handsome features twisted into an evil smirk. Jim stumbled forward with a new goal. He just needed one clean shot at the man.

"Come on, little boy, I have something you'll like. All the little boys love it," Kincaid cajoled as Jim backed away. Without the wall to steady him, Jim felt his body roll from side to side. The cold smell lingered in the air, but now something new flew at him, drops landing on the hairs of his arms as he fell backwards. Hot. Too hot.

His shoulder crashed into the wall where he slid down.

"Jim!" Blair cried. "You son of a bitch. I'll fucking kill you," Blair screamed as Jim wiped at himself desperately, his skin crawling.

Blair grunted as something hit flesh, and that brought Jim's focus from his skin to his companion who lay on the floor, one arm reaching to Jim and the other cradling his stomach as he vomited up bile and blood.

"You're all so easy. The right chemicals, and you don't have enough brain cells left to figure out what we're doing. So, let's get your loyalties figured out. Feel like a game of hide the salami?"

"Leave him alone," Blair snapped weakly. Jim shook his head again as Blair struggled up an inch before the man with the voice used a foot to push him back down to the ground. This time, Blair didn't move.

"Stay out of this. Or, actually, don't stay out of this. You stay away and watch as I turn your Sentinel into mine."

"No." Blair whispered the word so softly that Jim could barely hear the sound over the slow cadence of Blair's heart.

"Jim, he called you Jim, right?" the voice called. "I can make you feel better." The voice came closer, and touched him.

Jim sighed as the burning vanished, his skin still whole despite the pain.

"Jim, I can make you feel better. I'll protect you," the voice crooned as hands touched more, cooling palms sliding up Jim's arms. Jim focused on Blair, his face hidden by hair, his fingers curling against the bare boards of the office floor.

"You bastard," Blair croaked without moving, even his fingers going still as his temperature dropped. Jim struggled forward, but hands moved against him, confusing him.

"Of course I am, but by the time I'm done, you'll be dead, and your poor little Sentinel will be mine. You'll be mine, won't you Jim?" Hands ran up under the sleeves of Jim's shirt and the one hand reached down and trailed over Jim's stomach. "I'll take the pain away. I need you," the voice offered softly as a hand moved over Jim's stomach and reached up to run over a nipple.

Jim blinked. The hands cooled the fire in his skin, but Jim ignored that as he focused his senses on Blair. The man was failing. Outside, voices gathered. They were coming.

"You'll protect me. I need you to protect me," Kincaid whispered. Jim dialed down touch as he allowed the hands to roam over his body. Men leered from near the doorway, laughing at the Sentinel disabled by their drugs. Jim shoved aside a killing rage that made him want to snap their necks with his bare hands, especially since he doubted he could walk across the room to reach them right now.

"God, please, no," Blair begged. Jim glanced toward Blair before focusing back on the man whose hands touched him. He'd remember that voice, that face, that smell.

"So confused. Just listen to me," the voice suggested and then fingers were working on Jim's pants, opening them so a hand could slip in and rub his cock. "When you aren't so confused, you'll do this for me, use those senses to figure out how to please me. Won't you?"

Jim brought a hand up to the man's shoulder, bracing himself as the world wavered in and out of focus.

"Jim, fight this. You're stronger than this."

"No Sentinel is stronger than this," the man said as he pushed Jim's pants down. He couldn't fight. He wasn't strong enough. Voices gathered. Jim focused on Blair; filtering out the stench of blood and bile, he found the pure scent of the man in the airport, the heavy musk. He sank into the feeling of a hand on his cock, stroking him so that hot pleasure gathered in his groin.

"Poor Sentinel needs to bond."

Jim knelt as a hand pushed on his shoulders.

"Poor Sentinel is going to have a new master."

"Jim," Blair cried out, desperate. Jim let the voice echo in his head. He didn't like the desperate tone, but the voice was Blair's. Jim couldn't move his body as fingers brushed over his asshole. A slick digit slipped inside, and Jim let his head droop.

"You fucking asshole," Blair cried, his voice cracking.

Jim panted as a second finger pushed in and stretched him. The pain shot up his spine, but pain or pleasure didn't matter, only that the senses stretched, pushing against his skin until he felt as though he would burst.

"Oh, you aren't using the poor boy often enough because he's so tight. Let's get those senses to open up and lock on to me, my boy," the voice urged. Jim lowered his head to the ground and keened as something large pressed into him, stretching, burning, filling. A hand reached around and started stroking Jim to hardness.

"So hot. Nothing like a kneeling, helpless Sentinel. That's why people pay so much for them, you know."

"Bastard. Fucking bastard," Blair whispered, defeated. Jim blinked and struggled to raise his head, but a hand caught the back of his neck, and he didn't have the energy to fight, not with his senses clawing under his skin like an animal fighting to get out. His arms went cold, and Jim snarled and bucked.

"Impatient. They all are," the voice said smugly.

Jim felt the pressure build up in his spine, his nerve endings tingling. When the man angled and hit the prostate, Jim gasped and struggled back up to his hands and knees.

"That's right, boy, such a good Sentinel. Open up those senses."

Jim couldn't stop his hearing from snapping open until every sound crashed into him. He jerked, and the man thrust into him harder.

~~~"Taggart, we had better be ready."

~~"I'm moving as fast as I can, Simon."

~~~"If Kincaid has..."

~~A ship captain yelling in some Asian language

~~~Rats crawling through the walls.

"Good boy."

The whispered words rattled inside Jim's head, and now the scent of blood and sweat and dust and gun oil and bile and rat filled his nose.

The cock buried in him moved faster, and now Jim humped the fist wrapped around his cock, lost in the sensory input as the world expanded.

Panting, Jim twisted as the body behind drove forward into him and then stiffened. The smell of come colored the whole world as Jim came in thick waves. His senses snapped back into place, and Jim collapsed onto the floor, his pants still around his thighs.

"Good boy," the man said as he slapped Jim's exposed ass.

"Watching your face as I took your Sentinel was much more satisfying than just beating you to death," he chuckled, turning to Blair.

"God, Jim, I'm so sorry," Blair whispered desperately, and Jim could smell salt.

"Oh, you're going to be sorry, Mr. Natural. You should have stuck to your university. Dale, get the Sentinel cleaned up. He's not going to be part of the auction. However, email our clients and let them know we will have one slightly damaged and very unwilling cop with a very pretty mouth up for sale."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, Detective Sandburg, you are going to be very, very sorry."

The voice left, and Jim struggled to push himself up as strange hands touched his exposed ass, not that the hands were any more offensive than the drying semen cooling against his thighs, but he didn't have any control over that. He struggled to roll to one side and pull his own pants up as strange hands tried to do it for him.

"Come on, boy, up you go. I didn't know the cops let their Sentinels run around without collars."

"Who cares? We'll get him his very own collar. Something in a nice shock-control steel model. I have a feeling Sandburg is going to take more discipline than his Sentinel will though. Isn't that right, boy?" Jim had fought his way up to his knees, and a hand came to rest on his head.

Reaching up blindly, Jim grabbed the hand and twisted it viciously, using the thug's body to find his balance and surge to his feet. Someone screamed, and Jim was guessing that was the man whose arm now cracked under Jim's hands, but the sound was lost in the explosion at the front door.

Jim squinted through the pain and yanked the thug to him as his buddies went racing out the door. With his unbroken hand, the man punched Jim in the ribs, but Jim ignored the pain and reached into the man's waistband for his weapon. Immediately, the man went still as Jim pointed the gun at him, an overwhelming need to kill nearly pulling the trigger even without Jim's conscious will.

"Get out," Jim tersely ordered as he let go of the man's badly broken arm. The thug howled in pain as the broken bones jostled against his side, and then he started backing toward the door, clearly more willing to take a risk with the cops than with a drugged, out-of-control Sentinel.

When he reached the door, he staggered out, and Jim stumbled forward, kicking the door closed before he went back to Blair's side. He would prefer to get his companion somewhere safer, but Blair wasn't breathing well and had lost consciousness. Jim simply sat next to Blair, one hand on a limp arm where he could feel the soft thump of life continuing to pulse within the still body. With his other hand, he kept the weapon trained on the door.

Hearing spiked dangerously high, making Jim's ears throb, but he ignored it as police moved through the lower floor. Banks' voice called to various teams, and Jim could hear him so clearly that he opened his mouth to answer, only to forget the question. The panther crawled in the room and crouched near the door.

"It's your fault, you know," Jim pointed out without much actual anger. If he hadn't come, Sandburg would have died. The cat didn't even bother glancing back toward Jim. Maybe the cat distracted him, because suddenly the door was already open and men in black vests screamed instructions.

Jim kept his weapon focused on the tallest one's head as bloated words slipped past him. "If it weren't for that damn cat, I'd be in Canada," Jim said, and this time he did manage to find a little frustration. Blair moaned, and Jim shifted closer as he moved his hand to Blair's cheek while still keeping his weapon trained on the strange man.

"Jim," a voice called, a different voice from the one before, but familiar. Jim cocked his head but kept his eyes focused on the head of the man he was going to shoot.

"Captain Ellison," the voice demanded, and Jim blinked and turned to find Banks two feet away. "Jim, put the weapon down." He turned away from Jim. "Mendez, Roberson, get out. You do not take on a Sentinel with an injured guardian."

Jim just watched Banks as the other two shuffled backwards out the door.

"Jim, give me the weapon."

"I hate drugs."

"Not fond of them myself."

"It's the cat's fault."

"Sure," Banks agreed. "Give me the gun."

"Blair's hurt," Jim countered.

"As soon as you give me the gun, the medics will come help him. Give me the gun, and Blair gets help." Banks paused a second. "Gun then help."

Jim considered the offer. He took the bullet out of the chamber and slid the ammo clip out of the weapon before he surrendered it to Banks.

"Simon, you are one lucky son of a bitch."

"I told you Rick, he has more control that most."

"And after Kincaid dosed him with Lomal and Amalynze-9, I'm surprised he's not shooting at the pretty colors. These so-called bonding drugs really leave Sentinels illogical, and his skin is white with all the residue."

Jim turned, his muscles moving like a rusted gate as he considered the new man.

"I don't like you," Jim said as he saw Rick Yaden standing in the door with a rifle. The man backed up a step and medics came in.

"We can't treat your man with a drugged Sentinel on scene. Either restrain him or we'll have to tranquilize him, even if he's been drugged already."

"Just give me the restraints."

Jim watched one medic hand familiar chains to Banks.

"Jim," Banks said quietly. "The drugs in your system make it dangerous to give you more drugs, but if you don't let me put these on, they're going to tranq you."

Jim stared at the chains.

"Blair's mine," Jim answered.

"Yeah, yeah. The kid's been yours for a long time now. It's called an obsession."

"Blair's mine," Jim repeated. He brushed the hair back from Blair's face, and black bruises made him look distorted. "Blair's cold."

"Shock. Get the restraints on the Sentinel or we're going to have to drug him," one of the strange voices said, and the sound mutated into a cartoon voice so that Jim looked over, expecting to see a white speech bubble floating over the man's head. No bubble.

Jim then turned to watch as Simon moved slowly closer with the restraints.

"I hate drugs," Jim announced again.

"Yeah, yeah," Banks agreed as he locked the manacles around Jim's wrists.

"Blair's mine."

"You have a one-track mind, you know that don't you?" Banks complained. Jim just watched Blair's chest rise and fall as Banks reached around him with the belt for the restraints. Jim struggled to remember something.

"I don't get paid enough for this. This is technically your job, Rick."

"Yeah, but you're the one who wouldn't let me tranq him."

"Don't you think he has enough drugs in him?"

Jim felt the belt tighten around his waist.

Simon came back around to the front and the long, center chain ratcheted through the ring with a familiar clatter.

"Come on, Jim, you have to turn around here. I need your legs," Simon complained as he pushed at Jim. "And considering how much I hate these things, which you wouldn't know, but I'm telling you now, I just want to get this over with so Blair can get help. I'd let them tranq you, but Blair is going to do drunk karaoke for the next decade if you go and die." Simon muttered in frustration until Jim finally settled from his knees onto his butt so that Simon could reach his ankles.

The soreness reminded him. Jim reached out and caught Simon's hand as he finished attaching the last ankle cuff. The paramedics moved in with a flurry of equipment as they called off vitals and shouted directions. The sudden movement left streaks dancing across Jim's vision.

"I hate drugs."

"We covered this."

"Rape kit."

Simon's eyes turned to Blair with clear horror, and for a desperate second, Jim thought Kincaid had come back to rape Blair. He awkwardly lunged forward, all but falling on one paramedic before Simon could haul him back.

"Shit. I'll kill Kincaid," Simon grunted.

Smelling the air, Jim assured himself that Kincaid wasn't back, and he started shaking his head.

"Jim?" Simon asked.

"Not Blair, me," Jim corrected him. Simon turned shocked eyes towards Jim. "Nail the bastard," Jim asked as more paramedics rolled in two stretchers. They moved Blair to the first one, wrapped in blankets and medical devises sprouting from him like an overripe potato.

Hands pulled on Jim, and he awkwardly stood and allowed himself to be tipped back onto the second stretcher where someone attached the chain near his feet to the rail.

"Blair's mine," Jim muttered unhappily, his fingers reaching out, but the chain stopped him.

"We'll get you to your guardian, Sentinel. Blair's right ahead of you," a voice assured him. He didn't know the voice. Jim focused on the colors draining down from the ceiling. He hated drugs.

SEVENTEEN  
***  
Jim lay in the hospital bed with his head pounding. Just out of sheer cussedness, he yanked on the chain that was anchored to the two hospital beds that had then been connected. It meant the chain vanished into the crease where the two mattresses met.

"This is your fault," Jim complained to the body lying next to him. "If you had just kept being a self-righteous, arrogant little shit, I could have made it to Canada." Jim sighed at the lack of reaction to his complaints. The machine beeped in time with the heart Jim could hear beating, and not even the Sentinel-approved cleaners could remove the sharp stink of blood.

"You need to learn how to keep yourself out of trouble. Not everyone lets their prisoners off as easily as I did," Jim lectured Blair. He traced a finger over the gauze that protected the injured wrists. The doctor said the right one was fine, but the left might suffer some ligament damage. Kincaid hadn't been very careful with his chains. They weren't the ones with soft padding like Jim now wore on his wrists and ankles.

Jim almost envied him the injuries. He wished he had something so tangible, so visual. A bleeding wound would be something he could poke and feel the pain and watch heal, but Jim had something else. He felt ghost hands drift over his hips, and he tightened his lips as he ordered his senses to forget it.

The door creaked open, but Jim ignored it.

"Blair doing okay?" a voice asked. Jim glanced over his shoulder where a familiar-looking man stood next to Banks. Banks had asked the question, though.

"He's had a rough weekend. He'll wake up when he's ready," Jim said with more confidence than he felt. Blair's breathing was shallow, and his skin had turned a color Jim usually associated with paper: old, dry paper that was ready to turn to dust at a touch.

"Are you okay?" Banks asked as he came into the room.

"I've been better," Jim admitted with another tug on the chains. Banks had the decency to look away, but the other man just continued to watch.

"I'm Rick Yaden, Sentinel division," the second man introduced himself.

"Good for you," Jim said sarcastically as he turned his attention back to Blair. He reached up and brushed curls away from his face.

"The hospital said you refused to talk to their counselor," Banks stepped closer, but Jim ignored the comment. If he wanted information, Jim was going to force him to ask for it. "They have a male counselor if it would make you more comfortable than the first one. They even have a Sentinel pair that could come in from the Institute," Banks continued.

"I'm fine," Jim insisted tersely. The counselor who had come in wanted Jim to describe how horrible it had been, but the worst horror had been the lack of horror. Despite the fact that Jim had never been bottom before, Kincaid had moved so slowly and carefully that he hadn't even torn Jim. But the very caution he'd used made Jim feel… unimportant. Looking at Blair, Jim felt guilty, but he envied the man. Kincaid thought Blair was dangerous. He hated Blair because of what Blair could do to him. Kincaid hadn't even bothered to hate or fear Jim. Eventually, the counselor had given up trying to get Jim to talk and had left the room.

"We need to get a little information here," Yaden finally said as he came closer. Jim shifted on the bed, bracing himself on an elbow so that he could at least partially sit up. With his ankles chained, it was the most dignified position that he could manage.

"Since I'm just a lowly Sentinel, and one whose judgment is highly questionable, I'm not sure why you're bothering to ask me anything." Jim watched as Yaden took a small step back. Banks sighed, studied the ceiling for a brief moment, and then focused on Jim.

"I don't like this Sentinel shit. I suspect that you dislike it even more, but there are some facts that we all have to deal with here."

"When the government says that you can be legally chained up for your own protection, I might be interested in having a discussion of facts with you. Until that time, I really don't see that we have much to talk about." Jim watched as Banks' back went stiff.

"Funny, I thought we had something in common," Banks snapped back, stepping close enough that Jim could see his jaw muscle work. "I thought we both cared about Sandburg here. But if you don't care that the kid is in more shit than he knows how to get out of, you just let me know. I'll have the doctors in here to tranq you and haul your ass out of here."

"What?" Jim demanded. He didn't even realize he was moving until his hands grasped Blair's arm, and the detective shifted in his sleep. Jim forced himself to loosen his hold. "Sandburg's a good kid. He stood up to Kincaid when most men would have been begging for mercy and offering anything in order to get out alive," Jim said as he avoided the way the threat to separate them ripped at his soul.

"Fuck," Banks whispered. "Yeah, that's our Blair. He has more heart than brains some days, even if he is a doctoral student. But you know he's in serious shit now or you wouldn't have asked me to do the rape kit," Banks quickly added.

Jim could feel the heat rise to his face. He'd survive the rape. He would. He just hated that his humiliation had become something so casually discussed.

He'd hated the obnoxious cheerfulness Kincaid had shown, as though he didn't need to strip Jim of power because Jim didn't have any. If Kincaid had chained him up and whipped him the way he'd tortured Sandburg… as perverse as it sounded, Jim would have preferred that. He would have preferred an enemy who considered him worthy of breaking instead of that asshole who assumed that as a Sentinel he came broken already.

And now Yaden and Banks came in casually discussing that rape, and Jim found his fingers again closing painfully tight around Blair's arm. Blair's breathing stopped for a brief moment before Jim realized just how tightly he was holding on. Fuck. It wasn't like the kid didn't have enough bruises already.

"You knew that Blair would be the first suspect," Banks said.

"He didn't do this; Kincaid did," Jim insisted. He definitely did not want to discuss this.

"We collected the rape sample from your kit, and we'll send that to the lab for testing. As soon as we have a court order or when Blair wakes up and gives informed consent, we'll send his sample to compare." The significance of Banks' words sank into Jim like lead pellets ripping through him.

"Informed consent," he said quietly. "You're arresting him."

Yaden stepped forward again. "Under the law, anyone who engages in sexual behaviors that interfere with a legally established bond is guilty of a class four felony rape."

"He didn't touch me."

"You weren't bonded before, and you clearly are now. That's not how this looks."

"The rape kit won't match him," Jim growled at Yaden as he narrowed his eyes and started considering all the ways he would like to murder the man. He knew ways to do it slowly… so slowly.

"Without his informed consent, we can't take that sample," Banks interrupted. "We want to help Blair, and that's why we're talking to you, off the record."

Jim sighed and spent a moment staring at the tiled ceiling. God, the plan had been so simple. Foolproof. Make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape. He'd carried it out perfectly. How had it all gotten so incredibly fucked up?

"I'm too tired to play this verbal fencing match. What do you want?" Jim finally asked. He focused on Banks, but Yaden answered.

"I looked up your records. Where is Keith Walker?"

"In his basement."

"Is he alive?" Banks demanded. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Keith is probably mad as hell right now. We're supposed to be on a camping trip, but I gave him a lecture about the evils of slavery and locked him in his own Sentinel safe-room," Jim explained. Banks blinked in surprise. "He deserved it," Jim brought home the attack, and he could see Banks shift uncomfortably.

"Is he unhurt?" Yaden asked.

"Yeah."

"How did you break the bond with him?" Yaden pulled out a notepad and started taking notes.

Jim laughed without any humor. "I never had one. Walker's a kid. He believed what I told him, and I told him I had bonded to him."

"You were planning the escape from day one," Banks said quietly. Part of Jim wanted to get some satisfaction out of this by telling them the whole plan. The fucking government had taken his freedom, Kincaid had taken his body, but maybe he could prove to these two that he wasn't the tamed animal they assumed.

"I was," Jim said simply. No matter how much he wanted to tell them the whole story, to tell them they were idiots who didn't understand the first thing about Sentinels, he couldn't. He couldn't ruin the next runner's chance of pulling the same trick. Let them think sex was bonding.

"So, how did you end up bonding to Blair?" Simon asked, and his eyes slid over to where Blair breathed with a rough wheeze. He'd been in bad shape with bruising and swelling, and he had caught a lungful of drugs used on Jim. The bonding drugs didn't have the same effect on non-Sentinels, but in his weakened condition, they had put Blair out cold. And he stayed out cold. Jim considered how much truth and how much lie to weave into his story. He reached up and brushed a curl back from the side of Blair's mouth. No matter what Jim did, the hair seemed to have a life of its own, creeping uncontrollably toward Blair's mouth.

"At the airport, when Blair first came up to me," Jim started carefully, "I felt pulled toward him. He was good. I didn't know how good until later. But he looked that guard in the eye and lied without batting an eye. He thought on his feet, he kept calm, even when I provoked him to get an emotional response out of him, he kept his cool. He would have been one hell of an operative."

"You wanted to bond with him?" Banks asked.

"Not bad enough to give up my freedom," Jim shook his head. "And then I figured out my freedom was gone, and I let myself focus on him. I let myself focus too much." Jim remembered how he'd grabbed Blair and thrown him on the couch. "I touched him, smelled his hair, held him down."

Jim laid the foundation carefully without overplaying it. He had to hide his own ability to function without a bond, to have sex without a bondmate. They still might take Blair away. Jim's fingers tightened on the fabric of Blair's shirt at the thought, but he knew they had that power. If they did, he could still salvage the plan. He just had to convince them that he couldn't replicate the same control.

Jim ignored the voice in his head that whispered thoughts of finding Blair before he ran. He had a fantasy of tossing Blair in the trunk of some getaway car and running for the border. After Blair's speech at the precinct when he'd visited, Jim wasn't sure the man would even object all that much. The problem was that Blair's plan had included going with Jim to Canada and breaking the bond, and Jim knew he couldn't do it. Either the judge would order his bond broken and he would suffer through the madness, or he'd fight to his last breath to stay with Blair.

Even while Jim's instincts geared up, ready to fight to keep Blair, he knew the best option would be to have the bond broken. He knew the pain of a broken bond. He'd survived it with Incacha, and he would survive it with Blair.

The beginnings of a new plan formed. It would take longer, but if he could convince them that Blair had been the unknown factor, he might repeat his success at escaping. He didn't even let himself consider what would happen if they broke his bond to Blair and shoved him in a locked room in some permanent institution. He wouldn't survive losing his companion and his freedom, and Jim wasn't sure just how he felt about that potential end.

"You started the bond with Blair before you were even arrested," Banks said, putting together the pieces Jim had neatly laid out for him. Jim nodded.

"That isn't possible," Yaden argued.

"We already know something impossible happened here, so one form of impossible works just as well as any other."

"I like Blair as well as you do, but this is a lot of coincidence. He's obsessed with Jim; he quits his job over him, and then he ends up being Jim's bondmate." Yaden counted off the chain of events on his fingers.

"I don't for a second believe Blair did anything wrong."

"I hope not, but I'm trying to be realistic here. I live in the real world, and in the real world, sometimes men get caught up by their own obsessions."

"Blair didn't do anything," Jim repeated.

"I know that," Banks quickly agreed. "Now we just have to get Sentinel division and IA to believe that."

"Simon, you don't have to convince me of anything. I know that even if Blair did step over the line, he did it with the best intentions. But you have to admit he plays fast and loose with the rules. But my interest here is in protecting Jim's rights," Yaden placated Banks, and Jim tightened his jaw against the accusations that threatened to pour out. What rights? He didn't have a single one worth mentioning. But Jim choked back those thoughts because he needed to play the game. He needed to get them to see him as helpless until he could stage another escape.

Invisible hands prickled down his back, and Jim shivered at the feeling of helplessness.

The door opened again and two new police officers walked into the room. One was a horse-faced woman with grey eyes, and the other was an older man with a limp, but their body language practically screamed 'cop.'

"Clark, Ferguson, I didn't expect to see you here until Sandburg woke up," Banks said slowly. Jim could hear the stress tones on every syllable.

"Captain Banks, we have a job to do. In the face of such obvious evidence, we really don't have a choice about putting Detective Sandburg under arrest," the man answered. Jim didn't know if he was Clark or Ferguson, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the handcuffs the man carried in one hand.

"No." Jim said as he stretched as far as his own chain would allow him and reached for the arm on Blair's far side before the asshole could handcuff him, but it lay just out of his reach.

"Sentinel, I understand that this is a difficult time," the man said as he stayed on the far side of the combined bed where Jim couldn't reach him.

"Blair has injuries to both wrists. He may lose partial use of one of them from ligament damage from Kincaid hanging him from chains," Jim quickly explained. He didn't have any other weapons to defend Blair.

The cop turned and glanced at Banks.

"He's right. If you have to restrain him, you'll get an ankle restraint. I will not have you physically disabling a good detective, and if you even think about it, I will personally pay for the lawyer he'll use to sue you," Banks quickly agreed even though he hadn't been in the room when the doctor had come through.

The man hesitated for a second and then looked at his partner who headed out the door without a word.

"Are you taking custody of the Sentinel?" the man asked Yaden. Jim clenched his teeth against the increasingly familiar feeling of helplessness. His senses made Blair the most important person in his world, and his senses gave everyone else the power to take Blair away from him. Jim fought the cold rage that built in his stomach.

Logically, he knew they would break the bond. Logically, he knew he should encourage that, he should try to find a way to salvage some part of the plan. Emotionally he wanted nothing more than to grab Blair and run. He waited as Yaden considered him.

"He's been tranqed, drugged, raped, and bonded. He's stressed enough. Luckily, he has a good judge on his case, so I'll give her a call and she can bring court to him and sort out this whole mess. Let's just wait and see what she has to say," Yaden finally announced.

Jim had been clutching the edge of Blair's hospital blanket, but now he allowed himself to relax. Judges didn't move fast, so if nothing else, he had another few hours where he could touch Blair, run fingers over the rough cheek and hear the heart beating. Jim knew from his experience with Incacha that those memories could carry him through some hard times. And now, bonded to Blair, the memories of Incacha had faded to normal, so Jim needed a few new ones, a few Sentinel memories with their perfect sensory recall.

The woman reappeared, this time with a thicker shackle attached to a short chain. She locked it around Blair's slack leg and locked the other end to the bed.

"You can guard the room from outside it," Banks snapped. Clark and Ferguson headed out. "You too, Yaden. Blair doesn't need people in here who aren't his friend."

Jim watched as Yaden flushed, the small capillaries on his face darkening as blood rushed to them. He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.

"Get out," Jim said. His words didn't carry any authority, but at least he'd said them.

"Simon, I like the kid. I worked with him for four years, and if there's any way to clear him of this, I'll do it. I know he's innocent, but I'm just trying to live in the real world."

"I don't really like your version of the real world, Rick. I remember patrolling with someone who had a little more interest in right and wrong, and a little less interest in real."

"I just don't want to see you go down with him, Simon. We've been friends for a long time." Yaden didn't wait for an answer; he turned and headed out of the door leaving Simon and Jim alone with an unconscious Blair.

"If there's anything you need to tell me, I'm here to protect Blair," Banks said several seconds after the door fell closed.

"He didn't do anything," Jim repeated. Banks nodded, but they both knew the truth: a Sentinel's words didn't carry any weight in a court of law. "The sample from Blair—the only reason you need consent is to use it against him at trial," Jim guessed.

Banks looked up. "Yeah," he agreed.

"Take a sample. Blair was exhausted and collapsed on the ground the whole time Kincaid was raping me," Jim said quietly. "You don't need to use the sample against him, and no defense lawyer is going to challenge evidence that helps clear his client."

"I already have a sample. I just wasn't sure…" Banks stopped.

"Blair isn't a rapist," Jim warned darkly.

"No, but he'd do it to keep Kincaid from killing you or forcing another bond. He'd do it if Kincaid drugged him up enough that he lost track of reality. Blair has been obsessed with you ever since I met him. He drank himself stupid and cried all night when you rejected his request. He walked around the precinct like a man who'd just had to shoot his rabid dog for days after you announced you were going to bond to Walker. Give him enough drugs, and he'd be happy to try and create a bond," Banks said quietly as he stepped to the side of the bed. He touched Blair's arm lightly.

"I hope you know how much he cares about you." Banks looked up at Jim, and held his gaze for several seconds. "I hope you really get that."

"I'm the one with instincts that won't let me leave him," Jim pointed out.

"No, Blair doesn't have instincts. He just has this sense of morality and obligation big enough to match your instincts. Blair can't walk away from anyone who needs him. Other people's needs calls to him just like your need to stay with your bondmate calls to you," Banks said quietly. "Don't fuck with him, Ellison."

Jim studied the man for a moment and then nodded. Funny, he was chained to a bed, and yet Banks still felt a need to threaten him. It felt good.

"I won't," Jim promised, hoping he could keep his word on that.


	2. Part Two

EIGHTEEN  
***  
"Okay, let's get this show on the road," the judge said as she pushed into the hospital room. Jim ignored her, focusing on Blair's even heartbeat as he worried about the flurry of motion that trailed after the woman. Six hours. He'd had six hours with Blair, but Jim braced himself for the inevitable.

Rick Yaden followed her, and then Simon and a couple of doctors, only one of whom looked familiar, and her bailiff and a woman with a transcribing machine and Keith and the social worker. Jim flinched a little at Keith. The man didn't look any worse for wear after a long weekend locked in his own basement, but he could just imagine how angry the kid was.

"Captain Yaden, I'm going to have you recap this because I read the emergency custody report in the car on the way over, and I was getting whiplash just trying to keep up. Bailiff, clear out a corner for Tina; the woman doesn't have room for her machine."

The bailiff nodded and quickly moved the two doctors away from the table beside Blair's bed, putting the water pitcher on the ground before he pulled it across the linoleum with an ungodly screech. Jim narrowed his eyes, but Blair continued to sleep. Jim wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad sign.

"Judge, Captain Banks from Major Crimes called me with information on a warehouse where Garrett Kincaid was holding a number of Sentinels for sale. We recovered James Ellison at that location."

"And you recovered Mr. Walker from his basement of his house. Captain Banks, you seem to have come into this a little earlier than Captain Yaden here. Why don't you start?"

Jim shifted around so that he could get one elbow under him and watch with a sort of resigned.... not amusement, but maybe irony. He knew the whole story, but the judge wasn't asking him any of it. He shifted forward and stroked Blair's cool skin as he ignored the circus.

"Monday morning, I got notification of a 911 call involving one of my officers, Detective Sandburg."

"And this would be the Detective Sandburg who is still unconscious after being tortured by Kincaid?" the judge asked as she seated herself on a folding chair her bailiff brought in from the hall.

"Yes, your honor."

"The same Blair Sandburg currently charged with initiating an illegal bond?"

"Yes, your honor."

Jim could hear the tightness in Banks' voice.

"And it's definitely the same Blair Sandburg who applied for custody of James when he appeared in my court. I have to tell you, I do not like coincidence."

"Your honor," Banks interrupted, "Detective Sandburg is an excellent officer. Dispatch had dismissed the report as a prank call after a Sentinel at the scene failed to find anything, but standard operating procedure put the report on my desk. When Detective Sandburg did not show up for work or answer his cell phone, I sent a uniform over to his house. Detective Sandburg and his car were missing. An APB found his car in the warehouse district, stripped to the frame."

"And no one had any report about James escaping at this point?"

"No, your honor," Yaden answered. "That would have come to my office, and we didn't have any reports."

"I was still in the basement," Keith interjected, his voice tight with anger.

"And this would be where it gets really strange," the judge sighed.

"A man came to the precinct, claiming to have information on Detective Sandburg. I paid him sixty dollars and he said that dock workers had described Sandburg getting dragged off when helping a couple of Sentinels in the same neighborhood as the 911 call," Simon explained.

"Which gave you reason to trust its veracity, but you didn't have any suspicions about James at all?"

"No, your honor. He looked strung out, his clothes were rumpled and dirty, and he hadn't shaved that morning. He looked like most of my snitches, except for being a little better fed."

"Which might have simply meant he was a very successful snitch," the judge sighed. "Okay, at this point, you called Captain Yaden." The judge said it in a tone of voice that made it very clear she knew he hadn't.

"No, your honor," Banks said. Jim looked up from Blair to see how Banks was going to talk his way out of this one. Jim knew he'd backed Banks into a corner, but the man had broken a few regulations on his own. "Joe, who I now know was Mr. Ellison, said he had a problem with Yaden and that we could find Sandburg on our own from there if we called him in."

"So, James clearly wasn't bonded to Detective Sandburg at that point if he was willing to walk away. However, I don't understand why you weren't on the phone with Captain Yaden two seconds later."

"Your honor," Banks said carefully, "most snitches know a lot more than they're willing to tell right up front. The longer you get them to talk, the more information they let slip. I took two of my men, and we headed for the warehouse district. Sure enough, Joe showed us a specific building. The moment he identified the building, I did contact Captain Yaden, and the Sentinel unit arrived twenty minutes later."

"I think you skipped a couple of interesting parts, Captain Banks," the judge said as she raised her eyebrows.

"Outside the warehouse, Joe showed signs of enhanced hearing. I questioned him, and he didn't deny anything, so I retreated to my team where we discussed the possibility that he was a Sentinel."

"And did someone get a tranq weapon?"

"Before we could make any decision, Joe came back and stood between us and the car with the weapon in the trunk. Rather than risk escalating a situation, I chose to not confront him. I suspected at that point that he might be an escaped Sentinel from the warehouse, in which case he had a legitimate reason to go into a rage. Police procedure is very clear in these situations. If the Sentinel can not be subdued, we keep property and civilians out of harm's way. Physical confrontation with an emotional Sentinel is a last choice."

"So, you thought Kincaid had your detective and that Joe had gotten away from him. And no one thought that the Sentinel in question had a guardian? You could have easily found out that James Ellison belonged to Detective Walker with one call to the precinct." The judge glanced over toward Keith.

"I didn't know who Jim was at that point."

"But I thought from the report..."

"He identified himself only after that point, your honor. He then started showing signs of Sentinel distress over Detective Sandburg. He insisted that he was going in after him."

"And you got the tranq and stopped him for his own good, correct? I just must have missed that part in the report," the judge said dryly.

"Your honor, he was still between us and the tranq weapon. Before we could do anything else, Jim charged the building."

The judge sighed.

Jim just couldn't keep his silence any more. "Kincaid was beating Sandburg, telling him about the sexual sadists he was going to sell Blair to. I couldn't stand out there and listen to Blair die."

"James, I understand that the recent breaking of your bond with Detective Walker and the forced bond with Detective Sandburg has, no doubt, clouded your judgment."

"I never bonded with Keith," Jim said, ignoring the part of him that wanted to point out that the whole system had a clouded judgment. It didn't matter what he said; as a Sentinel, it would just get dismissed anyway, so he saved his breath.

"Detective Walker, did you bond with James or not? I have paperwork you filed right here."

"I don't know, your honor," Keith answered honestly. Jim studied him, but the man kept his eyes focused on the judge or on Yaden or even the floor. Guilt tugged at Jim.

"Okay," the judge sighed, "I don't mean to seem condescending here, but do we need to have the birds and the bees talk? There really should be a yes/ no answer to that question."

"Keith and I had sex; we didn't bond," Jim answered for Keith.

"Dr. Tarlson, I know I've only been doing Sentinel law for, I don't know, thirty-six years, but maybe there's some fine print that I didn't know about. An unbonded, adult Sentinel has sex. They pretty much bond, yes?"

One of the two doctors looked up from his notes.

"Your honor, the literature would suggest--"

"Don't even start with your medical double talk. Someone in this room has to have a yes, no answer here."

"No," Jim answered in the following silence.

The judge looked at Jim, really looked at him, for the first time since she had come into the room. "Succinct. Not necessarily useful, but succinct. So, Dr Tarlson, could you be equally as succinct and a little more useful?"

The doctor in question stared at the judge for several seconds, no doubt adding up his bank account and trying to decide if he could afford a contempt of court fine.

"During the sex with Detective Walker, did you experience any change in your senses?" the doctor finally asked Jim.

"They started becoming more intense, so I focused on a memory to avoid really seeing Keith," Jim answered truthfully. "I never felt any strong protectiveness towards Keith although I do think he's a good officer, and I wouldn't stand by and let anyone hurt him. It wasn't even particularly difficult for me to physically overpower him and lock him in the basement." The doctor's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to the second doctor who just looked bewildered.

"So, sex-bonding, bonding-sex, what do we have going here?" the judge prompted.

The second doctor spoke for the first time. "Some Eastern researchers suggest that bonding is more emotional than actually..."

The first doctor cut him off. "I don't think we need to need to look toward bad medicine for an answer. Your honor, Ellison's actions in Detective Walker's house precludes a bond, so if Detective Walker confirms they had sex, I would call the case an aberration. Reviewing the records, Ellison has endured more stress than most Sentinels ever do, so it might be an inability to properly bond at all created by trauma or it may be some way in which post-traumatic flashbacks interfered with his ability to focus on the present."

"That sounds suspiciously like you don't know," the judge snorted.

"Your honor--"

"Never mind. Captain Yaden, would you be so kind as to describe the events in the warehouse?"

"We used a small explosive charge on the front of an armored vehicle to take out the front doors, and then we came in with the Sentinel unit and two SWAT units. On the first floor, we recovered fourteen Sentinels, all traumatized, starved, and physically beaten to lower their resistance."

"Too bad you didn't find Kincaid. I wouldn't mind sentencing him to some of his own medicine," the judge muttered. "Tina, don't transcribe that."

"He was on the second floor when the explosion hit, but not in the room with us," Jim added.

"Are you sure? The report says you had been heavily drugged and were hallucinating." The judge looked at Jim with the expression his father had always used when Jim had been a child and said something particularly stupid.

"He would have shot Sandburg if he had been in the room," Jim pointed out. "There were two men in with us, and neither was Kincaid. I broke one man's arm and the other fled."

"We did arrest one suspect with a spiral fracture of the arm," Banks confirmed.

"Well, good for you, James," the judge nodded with a small smile. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer slimeball. Tina, leave the slimeball comment out. Okay, let's table the discussion of sex and bonding and just say that James didn't bond with Detective Walker. Oh, and James, the letter you left was rather confusing. You lead me to believe that Keith was patient and competent, but then you locked in him in his basement. The ideas seem mutually exclusive."

The judge continued to sort the papers she had in the file balanced on her lap, so Jim didn't realize at first that she expected an actual answer. She finally stopped and looked up at him expectantly.

"Your honor?" Jim asked, not quite sure what she wanted answered.

"How did Detective Walker treat you? Was there some abuse there that interfered with your ability to bond?"

Jim hesitated. The judge stared at him, and Keith's back went stiff as Jim thought through various answers. "Keith treated me fairly, but to be honest, he never had a chance of bonding with me," Jim said, deciding in an instant to continue his lie from earlier.

"Gender specific? Jim, if you'd prefer a female guardian, you only have to request one," the judge said, clearly confused and concerned. Jim shook his head.

"In the airport, when I was captured," Jim said slowly. "Detective Sandburg was quick-witted and calm and he smelled good." Jim could see that the logical arguments didn't impress the judge, but she nodded knowingly when he mentioned Blair's scent. Yeah, just chalk it all up to a Sentinel thing.

"If you felt a connection, why did you reject Detective Sandburg's request? He was on my short list of choices for your guardian."

"I wanted to be free," Jim said quietly. The judge just blinked at him, clearly not understanding, and Jim tightened his fingers around the chains that locked him to the bed. It shouldn't be a difficult concept.

"I was avoiding Blair because I knew I couldn't avoid bonding with him. When Keith and I had sex, instead of focusing on Keith, I remembered Blair. When Kincaid raped me, I focused on Blair who was lying on the floor three feet away trying to goad Kincaid into torturing him and leaving me alone."

The judge glanced down toward Blair who still lay unconscious on the bed.

"He never participated in the rape?"

"He couldn't even move an inch," Jim insisted firmly.

"Doctor?" the judge turned toward the younger doctor, the one who had been cut off so quickly. Now Jim recognized him as the doctor who'd been in earlier to examine Blair.

"With the swelling and contusions, I doubt that Detective Sandburg could have even stood on his own feet. He wouldn't have been able to engage in any sexual act, in my professional opinion."

"We have a rape kit being tested right now," Banks added. "I'm sure it will prove that Kincaid and not Blair was the perpetrator."

"So, that leaves just a couple of problems. First, what do I do with a Sentinel who can clearly fake a bond? I mean, James, it's a little hard to trust you to a new guardian after this stunt. The safest course would be an institution."

"I wouldn't run again; I wouldn't leave Blair," Jim said quickly. He looked down at the slack face and remembered the way Blair had struggled to distract Kincaid. "I couldn't leave Blair."

"That's debatable. However, the more interesting question is how you found Detective Sandburg in the first place." The judge put the stack of papers down and stared at Jim. Jim tightened his jaw, unwilling to make himself look like a nutcase by describing the jaguar, but he obviously needed to say something. He sighed, realizing he truly was trapped on this issue. As much as he hated referring to his Sentinel instincts as having any control over his life, there wasn't any logical explanation for his behavior.

"I just felt like Blair needed me," he shrugged, the motion awkward with the chain in place.

"I had the car and the supplies. I had even picked out a gun store to rob before running for the border. I got the collar off." Jim looked down. "Then I couldn't leave. Something in me just knew that Blair was in trouble, and I found myself driving the warehouse district trying to find him."

"Your honor, there are case studies of Sentinels identifying danger to their guardians over long distances, sometimes even experiencing hallucinations as their senses process such vast quantities of data that they can sense bondmates dozens of miles away."

"Unsubstantiated and unscientific studies. Myths," the older doctor disagreed haughtily.

"But when I look at a case like this, those romantic stories do seem just a little more possible," the judge pointed out. "Obviously, I don't have any weight in the criminal proceeding. But in this country, a man is innocent until proven guilty. Unless a court of law convicts Detective Sandburg of this rape, I find him a suitable guardian for James Ellison. Tina, draw up an order transferring guardianship from Detective Walker to Detective Sandburg. Okay, unless someone has something else to say, I'm calling this one a wrap, a messy and legally questionable wrap, but a wrap. Captain Yaden, have someone from the Sentinel Institute in to get James a new collar, and make sure those chains stay on until Detective Sandburg is up and about."

"Yes, your honor," Yaden quickly answered.

"I just might have time to actually make dinner," the judge said as she stood up. She strode from the room, her high heeled shoes tapping sharply against the floor, and Jim watched the rest of the circus follow her out.

NINETEEN  
***  
Jim noticed the moment Blair's vital signs started improving. It made a nice change from staring at the white ceiling wondering if he could go insane by counting by the freckles in the finish. He hadn't started counting yet for fear that he could, but he'd been tempted.

Now he turned his head and watched as Blair's closed eyes twitched and rolled, obviously lost in a nightmare. Jim curled his fists, caught between fury for the man whose injuries had kept him from running for the border and sympathy for the man's pain. Sympathy won.

"Calm down, Chief," Jim muttered softly as he stroked Blair's arm.

Blair started twitching, his heart rate increasing dangerously.

"Blair. Wake up. It's just a dream; come on, Chief," Jim said a little louder. The heart rate spiked even more, fear scenting the air as Blair's eyelids finally fluttered open. Blair gasped, his near hand clutching Jim's hand while his eyes darted around the room.

"Calm down, Chief," Jim repeated. "You're in the hospital. You're safe."

"Wha?" Blair managed before he coughed, his mouth too dry to really talk. Jim rolled his eyes as he realized the bailiff had never put the sidetable back. Blair's water pitcher and glass were on the floor where neither of them could reach it, and the table was still over near the far wall.

"Hit the button," Jim said as he pointed toward the call button near Blair's other side. Blair swallowed and blinked for a second before he reached up and pressed the thing.

"How?" he asked, swallowing more as his throat protested. They'd pumped his stomach when they'd first arrived, and Jim could hear the pained grunt when Blair struggled to speak. He needed water.

"The police got there. They saved the Sentinels, but Kincaid got away," Jim answered. Blair's eyes had been traveling the room, but now they focused on Jim as he frowned. He made a circular motion with his hand, a clear 'go on' signal.

"I don't know what else you want. The police sure haven't given me any updates on Kincaid, so I don't know if they caught him."

Blair rolled his eyes.

"You," he hoarsely whispered. "Why are you here?"

Jim sighed as he considered all the possible answers to that question. "I'm going to assume you're asking why am I chained here with you as opposed to why I'm not in Canada where I should be, where I would have been if these damn senses hadn't suddenly decided to hijack my life again."

Blair opened his mouth, but Jim started talking before he could say anything. "Kincaid's little drug cocktail didn't work the way he expected. I couldn't totally control the senses, but I sure wasn't going to bond to the asshole who was raping me," Jim snorted. "The judge awarded you... custody... about two hours ago, but you slept through it."

Just then, a nurse walked in. "You're awake," she smiled brightly at Blair. "You were out for quite a while, so I can't offer you too much in the way of painkillers."

"He needs water," Jim said. "Some idiot moved the pitcher and didn't put it back."

"Oh," the nurse said as she looked around the room. "They did leave a mess. Okay, I'll pour you a glass, and then have maintenance move things back around in here." She bent down and poured the water before standing up with a single paper cup full. "Sentinel, can you help him? Make sure he doesn't spill or choke?"

"I was a medic; I can handle a glass of water," he answered dryly.

"*I* can handle a glass," Blair wheezed. The nurse looked at him suspiciously, but she turned to the bed controls, raising the head of the bed so that Blair sat up. Jim's bed moved with his.

"Those arms are going to hurt," she warned without giving him the water.

"Can you give me enough slack here to catch the glass when Mr. Overdoes It here drops it?" Jim asked as he pulled on the chain that vanished into the crack between the beds. The nurse looked at him for a second before nodding and moving to the foot of the bed where those controls were. A motor whirred, and Jim pulled the extra slack up.

"Thanks," he said tightly, still hating the fact he had to ask, but he was back to playing the game, and this time he couldn't afford a mistake. Okay, he couldn't afford another mistake because as far as the plan went, it was pretty much in shambles. Jim had fully expected to have the judge order him removed, and that would have at least put the plan back on track. He'd be miserable, but the plan would be on track. Now... okay now the plan was definitely derailed somewhere.

"Now, let's get Detective Sandburg some water," the nurse said as she walked around and handed Jim the cup. Blair glared.

"Drink up, Chief," Jim said sweetly. The nurse smiled; Blair glared harder. But as Blair brought his hands up to take the glass, he made a pained whine and let them fall back to the mattress. For a second he panted, his eyes closed as he muttered a string of 'fucks' that made Jim forget that he was angry at the kid. That had hurt.

"I'd give you something, but you were unconscious for a long time, and Dr. Moodie wants to have some tests done before we give you anything more," the nurse offered apologetically.

"It's okay," Blair lied. Jim held the plastic cup up to his lips, and this time Blair drank slowly without trying to take it himself. Seeing that Jim had his guardian in hand, the nurse gave him a smile and headed back to her station.

"Thanks," Blair said as Jim lowered the cup.

"Hey, I live to serve," Jim joked sarcastically as he pulled on his ankle hard enough to make the chain rattle. He watched as Blair's face slowly reddened. With Sentinel vision, Jim could see the veins darken and thicken under the blushing skin.

"I never meant..." Blair waved vaguely toward the chains.

"Sure you did. The chains you put on me in your apartment--they were yours," Jim pointed out. Blair's blush deepened.

"Okay, I deserved that. But what the hell is going on here? Okay, I'm very glad to not wake up as a sex slave to some sadist who gets off on torturing a cop, but I have to say I had kinda braced myself for it."

"Simon was outside before I ever came in the warehouse," Jim admitted.

"Simon... what? Why the hell did Simon let you come charging in then?"

"He didn't *let* me do anything," Jim snapped as he sat back, moving to the far side of his own bed. It only gave him about a couple of feet of space, but at least the distance helped Jim control his suddenly overwhelming urge to slap Sandburg. Hitting the guardian had absolutely no place in the plan. Well, not unless it included hitting him over the head, dumping him in the trunk of his car and running for Canada.

"So you just came charging in? Oh man, Kincaid could have just shot you. Okay, why didn't Kincaid's guys just shoot you?"

"Because they'd rather capture a Sentinel."

Blair narrowed his eyes and studied Jim for a second. "Okay, I have seen you, and without the collar, which you don't seem to have on, you are the most un-Sentinel like Sentinel I've ever seen. So, how the hell were they supposed to tell you were a Sentinel?"

Jim stared at a spot over Blair's head. "I let the instincts take over," he admitted. That somehow felt even dirtier than the rape he'd endured.

What Kincaid had done had been something over which Jim had no control. Hell, from the first time he'd looked across the football field and spotted his fallen watch, he'd known to expect that. He still remembered his father kneeling on one knee, explaining how Sentinels were raped and how he could never let anyone see what he could do. Jim remembered his father's fingers digging into his arms.

But letting go of his control had been a choice. If Jim had to do it again, he would in order to save Blair, but the memory of his body acting without any sort of plan, without any reason or logic, it made the hairs on his arms stand up.

Jim looked over to see why Blair was silent. The man stared at him, blue eyes searching for something in Jim's face.

"You lost control over me?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah," Jim reluctantly agreed. "I couldn't let Kincaid kill you."

"Oh man. Over me? But that would mean...."

"That means that you were an idiot for getting caught, and I did what I had to if I wanted to get you out of trouble, Shorty."

"I remember you charging in," Blair said, his voice faint as he struggling with his memory. "Kincaid thought you were my Sentinel."

"I'm not anyone's Sentinel. All this bullshit about guardianship..." Jim stopped before he could go too far. Damn it; this wasn't how to play the game.

"God, Jim, you don't have to edit yourself. Man, I know you think this is bullshit, and I think I've made myself pretty clear on the matter too. I mean, the very fact you have as much control as you do has seriously changed the way I see the whole thing. And then the whole point about the Institute actually reducing control... that really has made me rethink the whole Sentinel deal."

"I know you've changed since you brought me in," Jim said slowly, feeling out his words.

"But you think I'd what... rat you out? Go running to the judge and tell her you weren't playing good little Sentinel? Fuck, I wouldn't do that, and don't even go treating me like I'm one of the enemy. If you want to have it out, then let's have it out, but I'm not sending you to some permanent facility or requesting someone break the bond."

"Have it out?" Jim asked, amused by the way Blair's determination turned to sudden anger.

"Yeah!" Blair's anger faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Just, maybe we could wait on the whole having it out until some time when my head is not trying to stage a mutiny and fall off my body," he asked tiredly.

"I don't know. With my hands chained, you still might have the advantage here, Chief." Jim gave a dark huff of laughter before leaning back into the mattress and staring at the freckled white ceiling.

"Oh fuck, the chains. God, Jim, I'm just so tired that I'm fucking up. I know that. I'll call someone and get you out of them, and then we'll figure something out," Blair said as he reached for the call button again.

"Forget it, Junior," Jim advised. They won't take my chains off until they take your chain off."

"What?" Blair asked, his hand halfway to the button.

"Check out your left leg."

Jim watched in amusement as Blair kicked his left leg and felt the restraint pull tight.

"Oh man, what the hell is this for?"

"You're under arrest for rape."

"What?!!" Blair nearly squeaked. "Hey, that is so not fair. I didn't do anything."

"Fair. Fair. I remember that word from somewhere, but I just can't seem to remember where," Jim mused sarcastically.

"Okay, this is a bad dream. I only thought I woke up, but I'm really asleep in some drug-induced coma while Kincaid sells me. That would actually make more sense than all this. What do you mean I'm under arrest for rape? I would never do something like that. Never. I wouldn't even be able to get it up for a rape. And whatever explanation you use, just keep in mind that at this point, I suspect you might be a drug-induced hallucination."

"Chief, I know. Calm down," Jim said calmly as he heard the heart rate climb and the panic-sour leak into air around Blair. "Simon did a rape kit on me, and they're testing it now. They'll have proof in a day or two that you didn't touch me."

"Oh fuck. Kincaid raped you. Oh Jim. Man, I'm going to find that fucker and cut his dick off."

"No, you aren't," Jim snapped, and Blair's eyes went wide as he froze in place. "I am not some fucking child you need to protect, Sandburg. In case it has escaped your attention, I can kill him myself, far more effectively than you could. So take this patronizing attitude and shove it before I decide to shove it somewhere you won't like very much."

Jim stopped, his anger and his need to reassure Blair at war as he tightened his jaw and glared at his companion. For long minutes, they stared at each other, and slowly Blair's body relaxed.

"Okay, you're totally right. You're the covert ops guy, and I'm a grad student who they let play with a gun," Blair said. "But I was so not meaning that as patronizing; I was going more for righteous indignation. I would have said the same thing if the asshole had raped Simon or Rick or me."

"He'd go through my dead body first," Jim growled, realizing just a half second too late that his response was more instinct-driven than rational. "I wouldn't stand by and let Kincaid hurt anyone, and if there's a way to track him down, I will."

"Riiight," Blair said slowly.

"Don't start," Jim warned darkly. God, he couldn't get his balance here. His normally controlled emotions vacillated between extremes, and Jim took a deep breath as he tried to find the calm center where he'd always retreated when he'd feared losing control.

"Hey, I'm not saying anything about the fact that your instincts seem to be in overdrive," Blair said as he made a very odd face.

"Look, I never said Sentinels didn't have instincts. If we didn't, I would have left your ass hanging in Kincaid's warehouse." Jim failed to find his control, and he snapped the words out like knives. However, his anger vanished when Blair's heart rate spiked again. Fuck.

"Chief," Jim started again, far softer this time.

"Hey, I'm good. I'm fine. I"m under fucking arrest for rape and having nightmares about being turned into a sex slave, but I'm good, so you don't get to patronize me, either."

"I know about the sex slave fear," Jim sighed. "Look, I wouldn't have left you in there, instincts or no instincts. The Ranger's motto is sua sponte, and I live by that; I have for too long to change now."

"Of one's own accord."

"Exactly," Jim agreed with the translation. "Rangers don't wait to be told what to do. We just do the right thing of our own accord. Or at least, I did act on my own accord before someone decided that another Latin phrase fit me better: non compos mentis."

"Man, that sucks. I get that now," Blair nearly whispered. Jim looked over at the other man, and sighed.

"Yeah, you get it. You understand that it's wrong to take a man's freedom, but it doesn't really change much, Chief. Hell, right now, you don't even have the right to take these off me because I'm essentially under arrest as long as you are." Jim raised his hands and looked at the dangling chain.

"Arrested. Simon has got to be giving birth to kittens," Blair muttered. "And how long have I been out of it? I have class."

"It's Monday afternoon," Jim answered, "and you should be out of here just as soon as the rape kit comes back. After all, you didn't actually do anything illegal."

Blair's heart rate soared.

"Blair?" Jim asked as he twisted around to face the detective better.

"Hey, I did not do anything illegal that night," Blair emphatically insisted, and his heart rate remained steady.

"What did you do?" Jim asked as he narrowed his eyes. Yeah, Kincaid had said that Blair was trying to help some Sentinels, but Jim suddenly wondered what exactly had gone on.

"Nothing," Blair insisted defiantly. His heart rate climbed slightly until he tried to cross his arms, and then it spiked as Blair hissed in pain. "Fuck that hurts."

"Yeah, you're going to be sore for a few days," Jim agreed. "Finish off the water; it'll help your soreness. After they give you some drugs, we can do some stretches."

"I thought you hated me?" Blair asked as Jim brought the cup with the last of the water up to his lips.

"I hate the system, Chief. And I hate your part in the system, but I don't hate you. I just think you need a little retraining of your own." Jim took the cup away when Blair finished. Since no one had shown up to put things back yet, Jim flipped the cup over Blair's bed where it clattered to the floor.

"Retraining? I'm not a dog."

"And I'm not a slave," Jim quickly answered.

"Oh man, this is going to be fun, isn't it?" Blair asked as he stared up at the ceiling. "And here I was thinking that if I could just get custody of you, it'd all be magically fine."

"There's no magic here, Sandburg. Just two stubborn men, only one of which is right."

"Okay, I'm tired and in pain, so can we let the philosophical arguments go until I might have a chance of explaining my position?" Blair asked while still staring at the ceiling. "Right now, all I care about is getting some sleep and some pain killers, and I am so not one for drugs normally."

"I had hoped you'd agree to talk before the doctor came in here and prescribed anything," a voice said from the door. Jim ignored it. He'd registered the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and the scent of gun oil and copy paper and stale coffee just about shouted 'cop' to his senses.

"Aldo," Blair said, his voice full of quiet disgust. "Ray Aldo, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Aldo from I.A."

Jim paid attention now. Distress radiated from Blair as his muscles tightened and his scent changed. Whoever this guy was, Jim already didn't like him.

TWENTY  
***  
"I always knew you were a fast talker Blair, but getting custody of the man you're accused of raping... that has to be a new low for our judicial system," Aldo said as he walked into the room, all classic Italian looks with dark hair slicked back and dark eyes. Jim pretty much hated him on sight. Behind him walked a woman, long red hair, and a silver collar flashing under the bright florescent lights.

Blair's eyes flicked toward the other Sentinel, but Aldo didn't introduce her. Jim hated him even more.

"What do you want, Aldo? Are you even supposed to be here if I don't have a rep or at least Banks here?" Blair asked as he squirmed to sit up a little more.

"I don't know; do you need a rep, Sandburg?"

"Man, I didn't do anything illegal, so don't go twisting this. Hey, since you're here, you mind dragging that table back over here?" Blair asked as he gestured toward the out of place furniture.

"Move it yourself," Aldo answered as he promptly sat on the edge of the table and pulled a notepad out of his pocket. The red-haired Sentinel stood near the door, ignoring Jim's attempts to make eye contact with her. "So, describe the events of this weekend."

"Describe the events?" Blair laughed. "Fine. I got a call, I investigated, I got kidnapped and tortured, Kincaid raped Jim and I did a big old nothing to stop it because I was flopping around on the floor like a fish, and then nothing, nada, comatose-land. That's my weekend. You know, I *still* bet it was better than yours."

Aldo glanced up from his notes with a frown. "Look, no one likes this. Not you or me or Banks. But let's face some facts. You're wandering the warehouse district alone at night. You end up with the one Sentinel you really lust over bonding to you, and you expect us to buy that nothing funny happened. If you're not going to come clean for yourself, then save Major Crimes the major embarrassment of having one of their own convicted."

"He's not going to be convicted of anything," Jim broke in. "The rape kit is going to prove exactly what I said: he never touched me."

"Sentinel, I'm sure your protective instincts toward your guardian make this difficult for you. The judge truly is an idiot for not protecting you by getting you away from Sandburg, but a criminal conviction..."

"Save it," Jim snapped. "And your chance of getting a criminal conviction is about zero and falling."

"I don't think you--"

"No," Blair snapped, "you don't think. You know what, just ask your damn questions and then get out of here so I can get some sleep. It's been a hard weekend," Blair snapped, shutting Aldo up for a second as he studied the two of them.

Slowly, the IA detective gave an unctuous smile. "Fine. Let's start with why you were down in the warehouse district."

"I got a call from Ruby, one of my old contacts. If you want her number, give Rick in Sentinel division a call. She offered--"

"You got a call from an informer from your time working with Sentinel division, and you didn't *call* the Sentinel division?"

Blair sighed. "Man, the point of interrogation is to get the other person talk. You don't get that, do you? A good ninety percent of the time, tips about Sentinels are nothing more than junkies talking to the walls. I went to check it out. When I discovered at least one Sentinel who was clearly in some serious distress, I immediately tried to call Rick."

Jim listened. Blair's heart beat steadily, but Jim was still getting the idea that the kid wasn't saying something. Hopefully Aldo was as stupid as he looked and he wouldn't spot the same creative skipping around the topic.

Blair coughed before he kept going. "Only when I tried to make the call, the Sentinel panicked and tried to protect me by grabbing me and getting between me and this car. At the time, I thought he was just being irrational. And then the phone got knocked out of my hand and Kincaid's men grabbed me," Blair finished. Aldo sat and stared at Blair for several seconds with an expression like he'd just found cockroach guts on his shoe.

"So, you're a trained detective, and you manage to lose your phone and your gun? Sandburg, that's impressive, even for you." Aldo looked over toward Jim. "But then he managed to overpower you too, so maybe it's just Sentinels you can't seem to handle? Is that why you left Sentinel division?"

"Fuck off, Aldo. The Sentinel was panicked. He wanted to protect me, but when he shoved me away, telling me to run, he accidentally slammed me into the building. I lost control of my weapon. He did his best to try and stop these two thugs, but by the time I grabbed my weapon, one of the thugs had a gun pointed at my head. I either had to surrender or have my brains splattered against the wall. And Jim had nothing to do with that night."

Jim jerked at his chains, the description enough to make him feel a surge of adrenaline. Aldo looked over, but at least Blair had the good sense to ignore it.

"They shoved me in the trunk, and when they opened the trunk again, the car was parked inside the warehouse and Kincaid was standing right there." Jim could hear Blair's heart rate slowly start to accelerate.

"And I showed up there later because I knew Blair was in trouble. He had nothing to do with it," Jim added, and Aldo focused on Jim now. "You can read the transcript from the custody hearing."

"I did. I'm surprised that idiot judge is still on the bench, but then again, I suppose her lack of judgment is why she's stuck babysitting Sentinels."

Jim felt a wave of rage that left him glaring at Aldo and considering any number of ways to inflict pain without leaving physical evidence. He shrugged coldly, as though the matter made no difference to him. "She makes more money than you," Jim answered, assuming that would strike a nerve. From the way Aldo tensed up, it did.

"So, you felt some sort of indefinable pull even though you had no bond with Detective Sandburg?" Aldo demanded. "This is strange enough to be unbelievable."

"I did have a connection," Jim corrected him. "I was attracted to Blair the minute he came up to me at the airport. He had guts. Guts and intelligence, and after a decade spent as a Ranger and months on the run, I've learned to respect those traits." Jim made sure to look at Aldo in a way to make his lack of respect for the other man perfectly clear.

"So, you started bonding? Well, that must have attracted some attention--you two doing it in the middle of the airport."

"Aldo, you are on dangerously thin ice here," Sandburg warned as he sat up. The movement cost him, and he grunted in pain as his heart raced.

"Save it, Chief. This guy's a moron. There's no reason to talk to him at all until the rape kit comes back."

"If you don't get this cleared up, your career is in danger, Sandburg."

"Jim's right. There's no point in talking to you, so, since I'm under arrest," Blair pulled at his leg, "first, you can't use that statement since no one read me my Miranda rights. At least no one bothered to read me my rights since I've been conscious. Second, I choose not to talk to you without my lawyer. Since I don't have a lawyer and I don't plan on getting one, that may be a while. Get lost, Aldo."

The other detective stood up and looked from Jim to Blair. "IA is watching," he warned.

"Oh man, do you have any idea how funny that sounds?" Blair huffed. "IA is watching," Blair mocked. "That sounds like 'Big Brother is watching.' But I don't think you're smart enough to have read that book, are you?"

"Funny, Sandburg, very funny. You step out of line, and you're going to find out how funny," Aldo threatened as he stormed out the door, his Sentinel hurrying after him.

"That doesn't even make sense," Blair shouted after the man, his voice cracking. "Oh man, now I want more water," he complained softly, dropping back onto the bed and sighing. "Fucking arrogant, ass-kissing, dumb fuck FUCKER," Blair shouted toward the open door, but Aldo was gone, nearly to the elevators now. Of course, his Sentinel could hear Blair, but she didn't seem to be repeating the insult.

"You feel better now that you got that out of your system?" Jim asked.

"Hell, yeah."

Jim listened as Aldo reached the elevator and got in while asking his Sentinel if she had detected any lies. She quickly answered that Blair had been truthful, and Jim smiled. The woman obviously didn't know Blair that well, and neither did Aldo. Carefully, Jim screened out the hospital noises as he searched for any electronic signatures from listening devices. The only heartbeat in the next room was sluggish, the breath wheezing. He couldn't pick up any recording devices at all. Finally, he asked softly, "So, what happened when you first saw that Sentinel?"

"Nothing." Blair's heart did a quick flip.

"Well, this is a great foundation for a partnership," Jim said thoughtfully as he lay back on his own bed. At least now he had enough chain to do it without having his right arm pulled awkwardly across his chest. He listened as Blair held his breath for just a second.

"Seriously. Nothing important happened," Blair finally said, his voice rough and fatigue slurring his words.

"Nothing important. I guess that, legally, you get to decide what's important for me to know, now," Jim responded, intentionally poking the one spot he was fairly sure would work on Sandburg. Some attack strategies required a little finesse.

"Fuck. Jim, it's not like that."

"Hey, you don't have to justify yourself to me. I'm just the Sentinel, remember?"

"Damn it. Fine. I thought the Sentinel was a runner. I promised to take him somewhere safe without telling the Institute, okay?" Blair whispered the words angrily.

Jim pushed himself up on one elbow and studied Blair, listening for any sign that the man was lying or creatively editing the truth. He wasn't. Jim struggled to even process that little fact. Yeah, Sandburg had offered to help him, but that had been guilt.

"Did you know him, from before?" Jim asked.

"No. I told Aldo the truth; I got a call and when I went out there, I found him."

"So, you promised to keep him out of the Institute, and then you turned around and tried to call the Institute in? Nice, Sandburg."

"He was hurting," Blair quickly snapped back. "He'd lost control of his senses. He was dirty and hungry and in pain."

"Feed him, let him use the shower, and leave him alone to get a good night's sleep," Jim held up his fingers as he ticked off the options.

"With his senses on overload? Man, if feeding him were all it took, Ruby would have done it."

"Ruby?" Jim demanded. Blair shut up so fast he almost sucked his own lips in. "Ruby?" Jim repeated. The little shit had a contact in the underground. Jim had to control the smile that threatened.

"When a Sentinel is that far gone, he needs something more than some quiet. He needs sedation and professional help," Blair insisted tersely.

"It'd be kinder to shoot him and put him out of his misery," Jim shot back. Blair had contacts with the underground. Jim started running that fact through his plan, and it opened a whole new set of doors. Being bonded to Blair tethered him here, but surely other Sentinels had decided to run after bonding. The underground would have to have facilities to help with that. They'd have a secure place to lock him up while the panic of a breaking bond ripped through his control. Jim nodded as plan version 2.0 formed.

"That's just..." Blair spluttered into silence.

"True. The word you're looking for is true, Junior. Dead is better than being a slave." Jim yanked against the chains so hard that the bed trembled."

"You're not a fucking slave."

Before Jim could answer, he cocked his head, listening to footsteps approaching. Banks was coming, the scent of his cigar floating ahead of him.

"What is it?" Blair asked.

"Well, it sounds like this is going well," Banks said cheerfully as he came in the door.

"Simon! Man, am I glad to see you. You have to get this straightened out," Blair said as he gave his chained leg a yank. Banks flinched, but he continued to Blair's side of the bed.

"I'm trying, Blair. The custody judge was willing to believe in a bond without sex, but IA is not being that flexible. It might have something to do with the Robertson case."

"Hey, if there are dirty cops in IA, someone has to investigate the investigators," Blair defended himself. "It's not my fault that the damn porn ring landed on my desk. But I'm too busy for this. You have to be able to spring me." Blair looked up, and Jim could almost see Banks' amusement as he got the full pleading treatment.

"Give it up, kid. I am not one of the women down in records you can blink your eyes at. Besides, if I got you out of here, I'd have to take you to booking, and I really want to avoid that."

"Shit," Blair said as his head flopped back onto the pillow in frustration.

"Jim," Banks said with a nod.

"Banks," Jim offered back.

"People in my department just call me Simon, unless I'm busy chewing them out at the time, then I'm Captain Banks." Simon didn't offer his hand with the introduction, but at least he'd acknowledged Jim.

"I assume I'll be working with you now?" Jim asked as he glanced at Blair. Technically a guardian could leave a Sentinel at home. Everything he knew about Blair said he wouldn't do that to Jim, but Jim didn't know that he trusted his instincts.

"We should be working now," Blair groused, "I have cases, and let's not even talk about the classes I'm missing and the papers I'm supposed to be writing. Man, I have a life; I don't have time for this shit."

Jim locked his jaw shut as Simon looked at Blair sympathetically. Yeah, the kid had a life to get back to and this arrest was taking a few days out of his life. Intellectually, Jim understood Blair's frustration, but it didn't make the knot in his gut any easier to carry.

"I brought you some work: a few files, your laptop, and that book you've been reading every lunch break." Simon put his briefcase up on the displaced side table before clicking it open.

"Put that side table back where it's supposed to be when you're finished," Jim said, aware even as the words came out of his mouth that he was being sharper than he intended.

"We can't reach the water and my throat is really bothering me," Blair hurried to explain, and Jim felt the knot tighten as the kid made excuses for his bad behavior. Jim focused on just staying silent and not letting his emotions spill out of control as the two officers talked about cases. Blair turned down the offer of his laptop since his arms hurt so bad and he didn't want it left in the room where it could get stolen or damaged. He accepted the various files and books.

"Jim, I asked Keith about your personal effects, but he didn't have anything more than clothes, and his car with your bags was stolen."

Jim shrugged. "Nothing personal in there anyway."

"I could stop by the bookstore or get you some magazines," Simon offered. Jim didn't think Simon would appreciate his taste in magazines or books. He'd learned in the Institute that showing an interest in political books or soldier magazines just made people nervous.

"Don't worry about it," Jim answered. "Being in a hospital, there's plenty to keep me occupied." Jim could hear dozens of conversations and the busy hum of machines and the distant waves of crying. This was the opposite of the Institute, and Jim took the opportunity to stretch and test his senses. Besides, the time gave him a chance to work out the new plan. He needed to find out more about Ruby. Someone with her connections could get Jim safely unbonded and then move him across the border and up into the mountains, and he wouldn't even need a week's head start.

"And Blair, I do need your signed consent form for the blood sample."

"You mean you haven't taken the sample yet? Oh man, how many days am I going to be here because chained to a bed is not my idea of a good time."

"Considering how often you pull all-nighters, this is probably good for you." Simon sighed. "We already took a sample since Jim insisted it would clear you. Plummer says she can have it processed in another day and a half. However, we don't have a signed consent form, and she's been on my ass about how this puts her in a difficult position."

"Whoa. Carolyn broke protocol for me?" Blair asked in wonder. He turned and looked at Jim with a wide smile and a wink. "I always knew she had a thing for me," he teased. Jim tightened his jaw until he could hear his teeth grind. He added Carolyn to the list of people who, like Aldo, he didn't like on principle.

"Look, just sign the damn form before she loses your sample to cover her ass," Simon said as he thrust a paper at Blair. "We're doing our best. We'll get both of you out as soon as we can," Simon promised. "Oh, and Jim, Keith said there's a problem with your back pay from the military?"

Jim took a second to wrestle his thoughts away from disliking Carolyn. "I never got any," he shrugged.

"That would be the problem. Do you want me to get the nurses to bring a phone in?" Simon asked.

"Man, they didn't give you your pay?" Blair asked, clearly horrified. "You were in Peru for eighteen months. That's got to be at least..." Blair paused. "A lot. A whole lot."

"I broke out of a cell and went on the run. I didn't hang around to ask the quartermaster to give me back pay," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, but you've been--" Blair cut himself off as Jim glared. "Right, your money, your problem."

"Oh yeah, this is just a match made in heaven, I can see that now," Banks sarcastically muttered as he dragged the side table back into place, retrieving the water pitcher and the stack of plastic-wrapped cups from the floor.

"So, you want the phone?" Simon asked.

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "I might as well take care of it." Jim didn't even bother pointing out to either of them that he wouldn't control the money either way. Either the army had the money or Sandburg did, but his days of handling his own paycheck had ended. Jim let the frustration roll through him while he focused on weaving the fraying threads of his plan back together. He'd earn his freedom... eventually.

TWENTY ONE  
***  
"Home sweet home," Blair said as he unlocked the loft's door. "Oh god. The takeout food," he immediately apologized. The loft smelled of sour Chinese noodles, probably because he'd dumped some in the trash on Saturday planning to take it to the curb that night. Instead, here they were on Wednesday morning.

"God, Sandburg, whose body did you hide in here?" Jim complained, his voice strained, and Blair flinched. Yeah, great guardian he was turning out to be.

"Let me just take the garbage out," he hurried to offer. "In fact, I'm taking the whole garbage can out. We can buy a new one."

"You can buy a new one. It's your place," Jim corrected him as he headed for the windows, pushing them open to let in a fresh breeze. Blair didn't answer. If he did, he'd feel the need to snap at Jim about the fact that it was their place now, but Jim was too busy being a standoffish asshole to care. Instead Blair grabbed the garbage can from under the sink and headed back out the door.

"Sentinel-safe air freshener's by the sink," he called before he slammed the door shut. Rather than wait for the elevator, Blair trotted down the three flights and chucked the garbage in the dumpster, plastic bin and all. Damn it. He still had his shit in the Sentinel-safe room too. Well, there was one more excuse for Jim to look at him like he was some sort of screw up.

Blair leaned against the building. Who was he kidding? Jim didn't look at him like a screw up; Jim looked at him like a jailer. Even worse, Blair felt like one. Taking a deep breath, Blair tried to push aside thoughts of the Zimbardo experiment where normal college students got a nice push toward sadism just because they played guards in an experiment on prison life and got a little too addicted to the power.

Funny, the system was supposed to prevent the guardian from feeling powerful or feeling like a jailer. After all, the judge and the social worker and the laws that protected Sentinel rights all limited the guardian's authority. And most of the time, a Sentinel's requests carried a lot of weight in the court, but Jim still acted like everyone was out to get him. And considering that Jim's ultimate goal was still to be free--Blair had no illusions about that--the system was kinda out to get him. Blair just wished Jim would stop seeing him as part of that whole problem.

Yep, after years of Naomi making subtle little comments about Blair becoming part of the system, Blair finally felt like he had. And the system sucked. Except that it was the only system they had, and Blair had seen too many out of control Sentinels to believe they could just storm the tower and open the gates. Blair had seen Sentinels in so much pain that they struck out at anyone trying to help. The system was there to protect Sentinels from other people and other people from Sentinels.

But Simon had still lost his brother to a Sentinel... a Sentinel who was in the system. And considering the control Jim had shown after breaking the one gunman's arm, Blair had to wonder whether the Sentinel who had killed Simon's brother could have made a different choice.

Realizing that he was only succeeding in confusing himself, Blair gave up and headed back upstairs. "Honey, I'm home," he joked as he opened the door. When he didn't see Jim, his heart jumped into his throat at the idea that Jim had run. Ironically, when he finally did spot Jim, standing on the second floor with his arms crossed, glaring, Blair was disappointed he hadn't.

"I don't plan on playing the housewife, Junior," Jim said as he started back down the stairs.

"What? Hey, that was just a joke... a bad joke, obviously," Blair muttered as he turned toward the kitchen, checking the refrigerator. "I don't really spend much time here, so no promises about there being any edible food. You want to order out?" Blair asked. When Jim didn't answer he turned around to find Jim staring out the open window toward the water.

"Nice view," he commented.

"Yeah. It's one of the reasons I bought the place even though I never really intended to settle down. I mean, I was raised to sort of live a nomadic life, detach with love, to not get trapped by material possessions. But I was renting a place in a really seedy part of town, and these places were going up for sale, and Rick brought me over here." Blair hadn't found anything edible in the fridge, so he stood playing with the limp celery stalk he'd found on the top shelf.

"It only has one bedroom," Jim commented quietly, his voice a little too quiet, and Blair was starting to learn to watch out for that voice. That was the voice that had come right before Jim put him face down on the couch and tied him up all those months back. That was the voice Jim used on Aldo.

"It has a second bedroom under the stairs; I know it's small..."

"That's a Sentinel-safe room," Jim interrupted.

"I had to have one to qualify for custody. I put it in when I filled out the paperwork to request..."

"Sandburg," Jim cut him off as he turned around and faced Blair. "If I sleep in a Sentinel-safe room, I wouldn't be able to hear anyone coming. I would start having the same problems I had coming out of the Institute. Take away the world," Jim opened his arms, "and I can't function in it when I need to."

Blair stood, his mouth open and silent as he considered that. Okay, he really should have been able to figure that one out on his own.

"Man, the upstairs..."

"Share *your* bed?"

Even though the words, said with supreme disgust, cut pretty damn deep, Blair was proud of the fact he avoided flinching away from that disgust. "I'll stay in the downstairs room," Blair shrugged as he turned to throw the celery away. Half way to the sink he realized that he had gotten rid of his trash can. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with wilted celery, he suddenly didn't know what to do. Behind him, Jim sighed.

"Chief, I'm not kicking you out of your bed. I'll take the sofa."

"No biggie," Blair said, throwing the celery on the counter. "Man, I don't make it up the stairs half the time anyway."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed," Jim insisted, a mulish expression on his face.

"Look," Blair snapped as he spun around. "I don't sleep up there any more than I sleep down here. Use your precious nose and sniff around and check up on the truth of that statement for all I care, but I can and have slept in the Sentinel safe room, so I'll sleep there tonight. You can sleep wherever the fuck you want."

Blair headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as he slowly slid down to the floor. Shit. He couldn't handle this. He could almost hear his mother's voice condemning him. And who the hell was he kidding. He wasn't saving Jim, he was just part of the system that trapped him. Like the fucking pay... that was Jim's pay that Jim had earned before the senses came on line. Okay, he'd been on-line with the Chopec, but the law was clear. He'd earned the money before he'd been legally declared a Sentinel. And yet, the military insisted on speaking with Blair. Yep. This was a great foundation for a relationship, as Jim had already pointed out.

Blair couldn't hear Jim, but he had no doubt that Jim could hear every bit of what Blair was doing. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him that having a Sentinel in the house pretty much ruled out any privacy?

With a cold determination to figure some way out of this, Blair turned on the shower and started stripping. After three days in a hospital bed with bed baths because he was chained to the rail, the water washing over his skin felt sinful... refreshing. He just needed a new way of looking at this.

Blair finished his shower and pulled on a robe before he headed out in a cloud of steam and padded upstairs in bare feet, ignoring the silent Sentinel still staring out on the water like a wild animal staring at the world outside the cage. Blair reached in his closet and grabbed all the clothes, pulling the hangers off the rod before he headed back downstairs with the whole armful.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked when Blair came back out of the room.

"I told you. I'm sleeping in there. With my late hours, I sleep in there sometimes anyway because the guy in 202 plays his music way too loud." Blair dumped the clothes on the bed and headed back up the stairs and started pulling stuff out of drawers. Rather than carry loads of underwear and socks, he just dumped it over the rail.

"I'm not taking your bedroom, Sandburg," Jim yelled up.

"Good for you. I'm sleeping downstairs, so you take the couch or the bed up here or the bench in the park down the street. Whatever floats your boat, Ellison," Blair yelled, inviting the man to leave. Blair paused in the middle of throwing a pile of sweats over the rail. Fuck, he should not care that much about Jim leaving. He finished his throw and went to the side tables. Simon had brought his recovered service weapon back here and put it back in the drawer. Blair pulled it and the ammo clips out of the drawer.

The collar and the gun, two serious symbols of power. Blair fingered the cold metal. He'd thought long and hard before he'd picked one up the first time. He remembered Naomi talking to him about the sacredness of life and the need to not damage those delicate threads that connected the world. Blair had countered by pointing out that he was saving people, saving Sentinels. Blair wasn't sure he could say that now.

He headed downstairs and put his gun and the ammo clips on the table before he started wandering the living room and picking up fallen underwear. The heavy door to the Sentinel safe room stood open, and Blair aimed his underwear at the opening with a single-minded determination as he worked his way from one side of the room to the other. He could feel Jim's eyes on him, and he ignored it as Jim slowly moved from the window, around to the door, and finally near the table.

When the last sock had landed in a disorderly pile inside the Sentinel safe room, now Blair's room, Blair stopped and leaned against the over sized chair so that he could stare back at Jim.

"What game are you playing?" Jim asked coldly.

"I'm not playing," Blair answered truthfully. Jim stood next to the gun, and Blair had on nothing but his robe, and even though he'd put himself in this position, he could feel the unease settle in his bones.

"Is this your way of placating my instincts? I seem pissed, so make yourself less of a threat by disarming yourself?"

"Is that what you think?" Blair laughed. "No, that wasn't the plan."

Jim picked up the gun, and Blair could feel his heart accelerate. He concentrated on breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, visualizing a circle of ice and imagining himself balancing on it.

"What is the plan?" Jim moved forward, the gun pointed at the ground by his leg. Blair forced himself to look up from the gun and focus on Jim's face.

"I don't know. What is the plan?" Blair shrugged and held himself still as Jim moved closer. God, how could anyone miss noticing that the man was a predator, a hunter? He'd been trained as a Ranger, and Blair could see that in the easy way he moved, his joints fluid as he stalked a half circle around Blair, studying him. Blair spent the time reminding himself that Sentinels really didn't attack unless they perceived some threat. Usually.

"So, is this your way of offering me my freedom?" Jim asked as he twitched the gun.

"If you want it."

"IF?" Jim stopped, his full attention on Blair now. "If I want it? Do you have any idea what it means to have your government decide after 15 years of service that you're not competent enough to sign your own check?"

"No, I don't," Blair answered truthfully. "But I told you before, man, I'm not stopping you again."

"And you'd just sit here, not call anyone?"

"Yeah. The Sentinel safe room locks from the outside, so if you'd rather I go in there, I will," Blair offered.

"Oh Chief, we still have a problem. I've bonded with you. I couldn't leave you behind any easier than I could cut off my own arm and leave it behind."

"So you can do it, but it would involve a lot of pain and bleeding?" Blair asked. Jim opened his mouth and seemed to promptly lose his words. After a few seconds of silence, he started shaking his head.

"Let me edit that. I could cut off my own arm *easier* than I could leave you behind. I don't think I could leave you at all, not without someone forcing me."

Blair nodded. He'd known this was a possibility too, but he wasn't sure exactly how Jim would handle it. Hugging his arms around his waist, he nodded. "Okaaaay," he agreed. "So, how are we doing this?"

"How are we?" Jim blinked at him.

"I mean, I'd prefer to be dressed for this." Blair didn't bother adding that clothes would make him feel a whole lot more comfortable around someone who was clearly disgusted at the idea of a physical relationship with him. He stood and waited for some sort of permission.

"You expect me to kidnap you," Jim said, taking up the pacing again, but this time with a tight-lipped expression that made Blair focus a little harder on that circle of ice.

"I expect you to do what it takes to escape," Blair agreed. Jim took two large steps, closing the distance between them. Blair instinctively brought his hands up, and Jim grabbed his wrist, holding on with enough strength that Blair knew he couldn't physically free himself, even if it weren't for the gun Jim still held to his side.

"And when we get to Canada? I can't just snap my fingers and end the bond."

Blair took a deep breath. This was getting into territory he didn't want to think about. "Let's deal with that bridge when we get there," he suggested.

"And if I don't want to let you go? Are you going to be this complaisant if I decide I need you to keep my senses balanced and sharp? Are you going to accept it if I decide to keep you the way the legal system has given you the right to keep me?"

Blair thought about that answer while Jim's grip on his wrist tightened until Blair grimaced. "Man, I've screwed up enough that whatever happens is karma," he finally answered, but no amount of visualization could keep his heart from pounding dangerously fast.

"And if I put you on your knees? These tamed Sentinels of yours... they think it's their duty to spread their legs for whoever the court decides. Are you going to spread your legs for me the way the Sentinels who you captured are expected to? Is that karma?" Jim demanded, using his grip on Blair's wrist to pull him close.

Blair couldn't answer, fear drying his mouth out as he tried to not fight, not struggle away from that grip. Fighting an angry Sentinel wasn't smart, and Blair could see so much rage in Jim, more than the night of his capture. And if Blair hadn't captured him, Jim wouldn't have been around for Kincaid to rape.

Jim's lips thinned into a furious line. "I tell you that I have a problem with being a slave, so you think I'm going to turn around and enslave someone else?" Jim demanded, his face so close that Blair could feel the warm breath. "Is that what you think of me?"

Jim pushed Blair back and away before he stormed back to the kitchen table and put Blair's gun down. "*I'm* not the slaver here," Jim snapped, and that hurt worse than Blair's bruised wrist.

"Man, I am getting tired of telling you that you're not a slave."

"Then why do you think offering up yourself as a slave is fair compensation?" Jim demanded as he turned back around and closed the distance, standing so they were chest to chest and Blair had to look awkwardly up.

"I'm trying to find a way to make this work so you don't feel like a slave and I don't feel like a fucking jailer," Blair shouted right in Jim's face. "Everything I do, you take it like I'm trying to personally emasculate you. I'm sorry the army is made up of assholes who wouldn't give you back pay without talking to me. I'm sorry that the system strips you of your rights. I just don't need you blaming me for all of this. And if it comes down to a choice of being the slave or the fucking slaver, I'll cast myself as the slave first."

"But that's it--you'd cast *yourself* as the slave," Jim said, his voice sounding smug in victory. "I didn't get that choice."

Blair collapsed into the chair, his own frustration rising with every arrogant, self-righteous comment that fell out of Jim's mouth. "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Jim Ellison. I'm not your fucking jailer, and right now, I don't even like you enough to care whether you believe me." Blair immediately stood up again, but Jim didn't move back so Blair had to push his way past, his arm brushing by Jim's chest as he headed for his new room and slammed the door behind him. With the door closed, the sound proofing made his hearing feel muffled--the constant flow of the city silenced.

Shit. Why hadn't he thought about that? Two (Blair came in here for naps in the silence) plus two (Jim already said the sensory shelter of the Institute damaged his control) clearly equaled four. Only Blair had come up with 57. Sitting on the low bed in the padded, beige room, Blair tried to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do now. He kicked over a pile of clothes just for spite. Yeah, like that spited anyone.

"Screwed this one up proper, Sandburg," he said to the ceiling with its squares of acoustic tile. Even the window and door had been bricked over to make the perfect sensory cocoon. Yep, that should have been clue one. Ellison wasn't the sort you could wrap up and protect without getting painfully gutted for your trouble. Blair scratched his stomach.

Blair dug through the pile of shit from his end table until he found his phone. It took three phone numbers and a fifteen minute wait on long distance before he heard the voice he wanted on the other end.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" Naomi was breathy and just a little shrill, panic bleeding through the phone.

"Nothing!" Blair quickly assured her. "I just wanted to see what you were up to," he obfuscated. The silence on the other end suggested he hadn't done it well. He waited for Naomi to say something that would give him a chance to cover his pain with words, but the phone remained silent.

"Mom?"

"I'm listening, Sweetie," she answered before falling silent again. Blair sighed.

"Mom, have you ever really, really screwed something up?"

Naomi sighed and fell silent, but this time Blair waited.

"Oh, Blair," she eventually answered. "Being human means making mistakes, and I've made huge ones. I try to learn from them, forgive myself, and move on."

"But what if you just keep screwing up over and over and you just can't seem to stop?"

"Honey, why don't you take some time off and come over here to France? You have to be done with your classwork by now, and even the police give vacation time."

"I have two classes I'm taking."

"Do you need them?"

Blair thought about that. "Not so much," he admitted. Really he just needed to write his damn dissertation.

"You need to process why you aren't finishing your PhD, Sweetie. Come out here. It will help you clear your mind and get some perspective on this mistake of yours."

"I have a Sentinel." Blair didn't say any more, but that did explain everything. Out of the country travel would now include hearings and permission and explanations. Either that, or Blair would have to request a secondary guardian be appointed or just leave Jim to the Institute. There was screwing up, and then there was unforgivable, and he didn't want to cross that line.

"Oh, honey." Naomi's voice had gone flat. "Is this the mistake?"

"Jim totally isn't a mistake. I just... I keep saying the wrong thing."

"What's the wrong thing?"

"Oh, anything that implies that he's one ounce less capable than Superman," Blair laughed roughly. "And I'm the one who brought him in as a runner, so he's not exactly predisposed to like me much."

"Blair, are you safe?" Naomi immediately asked.

"No, hey, he's not dangerous, at least not in a going out of control way. If I were a criminal, I'd so totally be buying a little extra insurance, but there is zero chance of him hurting me. I think there's more chance for me to hurt him. Either hurt him or just really piss him off--I don't know him well enough to say for sure which he's feeling."

"Being responsible for someone else like that..." Nomi's words trailed off, but Blair remembered her arguments from his childhood even if she had stopped repeating them once he took the job with the Sentinel division.

"Bad for the karma."

"You're an adult, and I respect your choices," she hurried to say.

"I quit the Sentinel division."

"Thank the powers," Naomi exhaled.

"I still work for the police," Blair added.

"But...?"

"Major Crimes. Mom, I helped take down a child pornography ring last month. I do good work."

"Honey, I hear you. I know you're a healer at heart and that you want to make the world better because you have a good soul."

I'm so hearing a 'but' in that."

"You can't save everyone. You need to take care of yourself first. Please, Sweetie, just come out here for a little bit. Get your balance back. How can you have any relationship with this Jim if you can't center yourself?"

"I guess that's why I called you, you know, just to talk things through." God, he was thirty, and he didn't have any friends close enough to talk through a crisis. How sad was that? Blair sighed.

"What's he like?" Naomi asked quietly.

"Before I helped bring him in, he had this wicked sense of humor, and he still has this totally centered morality where he'll put himself in danger just to save some guy he doesn't even seem to like very much. Only now, every time I say anything I just seem to piss him off."

"You're frustrated."

"Well, yeah. I'm only trying to help the guy. Hell, I even offered to go to Canada with him, to help him get away and break the bond up there, and he turned into this total asshole. Okay, turned might be the wrong word since he's been flirting with assholiness for the last few days."

"Honey, you know I love you, but no one is perfect."

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "That's sounding like you're leading up to something I really don't want to hear."

"Sweetie, sometimes you are a little manipulative. I totally understand that you want to make the world better, and I am so proud of how many wonderful things you have accomplished in your life. I brag to my friends all the time about what an incredibly moral, strong son I raised, but you have this legal power over Jim now and..." Naomi didn't finish, but Blair could see the dots laid out in a line.

"I have legal power over him, so me trying to manipulate him is probably not the way to make him feel less stripped of his power."

"I don't know that you've done anything like that, Sweetie. I'm not saying this is your fault because if he can't see that you have nothing but good intentions in your heart, then the man is blind, Sentinel or no Sentinel. I'm just making a general observation. You know I love you."

Blair could hear the desperate need for reassurance. "I love you, too, Mom," he offered. "And I might have manipulated him a little." Blair thought about the gun still sitting out on the table. "Okay, possibly more than a little. Shit, how do I fix this now?"

"Blair, you just make different choices. Life is just choice."

"Thanks, Mom," Blair said. "And I really do want to know how your retreat is going."

"Oh, it's wonderful," Naomi exclaimed, taking up the subject change immediately. "There's this guru here who teaches an Eastern meditation technique..."

Blair pushed the stacks of clothes off his bed and settled back on the pillows, listening to his mother's descriptions of all she was learning about herself and the universe. He let the familiar voice chase away the fear that he didn't know how to make different choices.

TWENTY TWO  
***  
Jim came down the stairs for the second time that morning, this time buttoning his shirt over shower-clean skin. Unlike Blair, he'd been given access to the shower, but chains made getting fully clean difficult.

Before heading for the kitchen, Jim pulled the door to the Sentinel-safe room open so he could hear Blair more easily. The kid had gone cheap on the room, and should probably demand some sort of refund since Jim could hear a good eighty percent of last night's phone conversation, but Jim didn't want to have to stretch his hearing past the muffling walls. Soft snores and a steady heartbeat reassured Jim that Blair was safely asleep, giving him some time to think.

Shit. If he'd been reassigned to some asshole like Aldo or even Keith, Jim would have kept control. Instead, he'd completely blown. Yeah, Blair deserved to get his ears boxed for the stunt with the gun, but Jim shouldn't have let himself do the boxing. Jim tried to suppress the guilt as he foraged for breakfast. After opening the last cupboard, Jim decided that Blair must not actually eat here much. Other than cans of tuna, granola, and algae shake powder, there wasn't anything edible. And calling those three edible was questionable; during survival training, Jim had seen bugs that looked more appetizing. He quietly closed the cupboard and looked around the loft.

Last night, Blair had dropped his wallet on the table next to the door. Even though it felt slightly wrong, Jim went and pulled a few bills out of it. The kid could take some money from Jim's account to cover it. Folding them in his hand, he grabbed the door keys and headed down to the bakery, still tracking Blair's steady breathing above him.

Jim settled in at a small table. The cashier had given his collar a furtive look before smiling and delivering his coffee and rolls, but Jim had grown used to those expressions. Luckily, the bakery was busy so she didn't have time to worry about him. And the customers hurrying in for coffee and donuts before work didn't stay long enough to notice the collar. Only one other customer sat down: an older man who was so buried in his paper that Jim could have grown a second head and he wouldn't have noticed.

Taking a deep breath, Jim savored the smells and the normalcy of it all as he considered his next step. Maybe he should have taken Blair up on the offer to run, but having the little shit disarm himself as though Jim weren't capable of taking that power if he wanted it... it was just too damn close to what Kincaid had done. Whether people had good or bad intentions, they saw the fucking collar, and they made huge sweeping assumptions about Jim's abilities.

And the longer Jim found himself in this role, the harder it was getting to remember that he was the soldier who had held the Chopec pass for eighteen months. He led the team inserted into Libya for those three days. He had laid on a rocky outcropping for nearly sixty hours, covered with brush, lying in his own waste as he held a sniper's rifle on a terrorist camp. When everyone else had failed, his bullet had ended one more dream of world domination. He'd done things that probably made the government shake every time they considered the fact that, as a Sentinel, Jim was immune to prosecution, so they could no longer legally enforce his confidentiality clause.

And as much as the assumption that Jim was helpless had rankled, he was even more annoyed at the sheer stupidity of Blair making himself a target. Jim had always felt the Sentinel instincts that everyone so feared, and he'd turned that into a fierce protectiveness of his whole unit. But now, all those emotions and instincts were concentrated into Blair, and the thought of Blair vulnerable just inspired rage. And all of that combined was still secondary to the cold fury at the idea that Jim would ever hurt Blair like that.

However, that left him some interesting choices. Ruby was probably still the best bet. If he could get to the underground, they would have resources for breaking the bond without Jim having to do something drastic... like indulging in a little fantasy of what life could have been like if he had ordered Blair into the trunk and just driven for the border. Sooner or later, Blair would have turned on him. Despite his offer, Blair was no more cut out to be a prisoner than Jim. And once they got to Canada, Jim knew he wouldn't have the control to break the bond without help. And help meant trusting someone. If he had to have help breaking the bond, he would rather trust the American underground with its long tradition of trying to screw the system.

Jim took a drink of his coffee and watched the city rush by. He had no idea what their schedule was for the day. Hell, Blair might be late for work right now, but he hadn't shared his plans with Jim, so if he was, too damn bad.

Almost like a fairy tale where saying a name made a person appear, a car pulled up to the curb and Simon Banks stepped out. He parked on the far side of the street and walked to the crosswalk, so Jim had time to finish his coffee before stepping out into the foggy morning air and leaning on the side of the building near the door up to the apartment.

"Simon," he offered when Banks came near.

"Jim. I just thought I'd stop by and talk to Blair." Simon stopped, but his eyes darted to the door.

"I didn't think you'd come to talk to me," he answered dryly. "But the kid's still asleep."

"Maybe we could go check," Simon suggested.

"I can hear him from here. He's still asleep," Jim repeated.

Simon studied Jim for a second, brown eyes searching him intently. "He isn't a morning person." Simon admitted after a second. "However, I need to talk to both of you before you come in to the station."

"I'm here, talk away," Jim suggested with a shrug without much hope that Simon would take him up on it. Simon hesitated, and Jim focused on the morning traffic.

"Fine, let's get some coffee." Simon headed back toward the bakery, and Jim followed, curious about why Blair's captain would talk to him without Blair around. It was against the rules. This time Simon bought the coffee, bringing it over to Jim who had taken the same chair that let him sit with his back to the wall and a view of the street out the window.

"I assume you're coming to work in Major Crimes."

"Not my choice to make," Jim pointed out as he concentrated on his cup. Not his choice. He'd said those words in his mind so often they should be easier to say out loud.

"Haven't you and Blair talked about this?"

"Blair talked." Jim shrugged and took a drink of coffee. Blair actually talked quite a lot. "I assume from what he's said that I'm coming to work with him, but he hasn't definitely told me. Of course, you assumed I was going to work with you when you asked me to call you Simon," Jim pointed out. That made Simon hesitate.

"I saw your file. I just assumed you would jump at a chance at Major Crimes after being stuck investigating stolen bikes." Simon sounded annoyed, not that Jim cared.

"Lots of assumptions." Jim nodded knowingly.

"Damn it. I'm not playing whatever little martyr game you have going here, Ellison. You want to work in my department or you don't. It's pretty simple." Simon brought his hand down on the tabletop with a slap.

"I don't have that choice. It *is* pretty simple," Jim countered.

"Oh, trust me, if you say you don't want to work cases, I will make sure you get your wish, no matter what Sandburg says," Banks threatened, narrowing his eyes. Jim put his coffee down and studied the captain. Rather than the carefully neutral or paternalistic, Simon just looked pissed. Jim could work with that.

"I want to work cases. I just don't like being collared when I do it," Jim finally said. Simon's eyes flicked to the collar before he focused on something on the wall behind Jim's head.

"I don't like this Sentinel crap. It's one reason why Rick sent Blair my way... because Blair was questioning whether all these Sentinel laws were justified or if they were just a giant load of shit."

"I think you know how I feel," Jim said quietly. Simon's eyes found his.

"I do. That's the only reason I'm letting you in my department. I've seen a lot of cops do things with Sentinels, get them all worked up over how some suspect is a danger to the community and then step back while the Sentinel does what the cop can't. And I've been on scene when Sentinels have lost control and thrown fits like spoiled five year olds."

"What are you saying?" Jim demanded. He'd started to relax around the captain, and now he could feel his anger rise at being compared to a child.

"I'm saying you have control, but not everyone does. Sometimes the guardians are the one to abuse their control, and sometimes a Sentinel abuses the fact that they can get away with anything. I don't like either. If you're in my department, I expect you to act like any other detective in my department. You do so much as slam one suspect's face into a wall, and I will personally fill out the paperwork to transfer you to Traffic. You go farther... well, if you go farther, I would recommend that you find another city. If you're going to take advantage of the Sentinel laws to turn vigilante, I don't want you inside Cascade city limits."

Jim sat, his hands around the cooling cup while he looked at the determination on Simon's face. "Understood. And I want to be treated like any other detective. You have a problem with the way I handle something, you come to me, not Sandburg."

Slowly, Simon nodded. "That's fair. Just as long as we understand each other."

"I never wanted a free pass," Jim pointed out.

"Funny how you get one anyway," Simon said, his voice dark. "Sandburg shoots some guy on the street, and he has to face the consequences of that. You snap some guy's neck, and you literally get a ride home and sent to time out."

Jim glared at Simon, but it didn't change the fact that the captain was right. "I wouldn't," he said softly.

"I don't think you would, but you understand this: I won't take anything from you that I wouldn't take from my other officers. I may not have any official right to discipline you, so I will transfer you out, no matter how good your scores or your closure rate." Simon leaned forward, glaring through his gold-rimmed glasses.

Jim nodded. "I have no problem with you running your department," he said slowly, understanding Simon's position. He'd led his own unit in the Rangers, and the commander needed authority over the men. "Normally you write a detective up or suspend them, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I would."

"I fuck up, and I'll accept whatever discipline you think is appropriate," Jim offered. "I hate having to walk away from a job, but if I screw up bad enough to earn a suspension, you say the word and I'll take the time off. I'll sit home and curse your name, but I'll take it."

Simon studied him again, his fingers twitching around the coffee cup before he brought them up to his chin, scratching idly. "Legally, that should go through Blair," he said slowly, and Jim focused his gaze on the table-top, the control yanked away from him once again. "So, just don't let anyone know about this little understanding," Simon finished his thought. "And don't think I won't use it. You screw up, and you'll be home sitting on your hands. You screw up bad enough, and I'll still send you to Traffic."

"That won't happen," Jim promised. "Blair is starting to stir if you want to talk to him," Jim said as he heard Blair wake with some mumbled nonsense. He got out of bed and promptly either stubbed his toe or tripped on something because a thump was followed by colorful curses citing gods Jim didn't know.

"I probably should. Look, Jim, I realize that Blair and I have made some assumptions. You playing martyr isn't going to change the fact that we all need to learn to deal with each other professionally. You hear me?" Simon asked as he stood up.

Jim looked up at the man and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm going to head down to that park a few blocks down, give you and Sandburg a little privacy." Jim stood up, and he half expected Simon to ask if he had permission from his guardian. Instead the man turned toward the door and headed out of the coffee shop.

Heading down the street in the opposite direction, Jim found the park and sat on the bench Blair had invited him to sleep on last night. Watching the joggers on the path, Jim let himself just feel the sun on his face as he tried to figure out how he would have reacted to Blair if he'd met the man before Peru. He imagined Blair showing up as a recruit, getting off the bus with all that hair. Jim could just imagine Sergeant Levkoff's face. The thought made Jim smile as he watched the people come and go.

The sun was playing peekaboo with dark clouds straight above him when Jim finally decided to head back to the loft. When he put his keys in the lock, he could hear a book fall to the ground with a thud. Opening the door, he found Blair scrambling to gather yellow papers scattered across the floor.

"Hey. I just, you know, dropped all my shit," Blair explained as he dropped a heavy book on the couch and started grabbing at his papers. "I was just writing," he explained, not that Jim needed the explanation. He could read the scrawling handwriting from across the room. Jim dropped the keys on the table.

"Your paper on Sentinels?" he asked.

"Yeah," Blair paused, looking at Jim curiously for a second. "The one on the way the Institute's sheltered environment damages long-term control. Man, I've written a shit-load of papers over the years, but Dr. Stoddard thinks this one could really get me noticed."

"Good for you," Jim said without enthusiasm. Blair's smile faded, and Jim mentally kicked himself as he headed for the kitchen. Control, Ellison, he ordered himself. It was just too damn easy to kick at Blair, but then the damn instincts made him hate himself every time that expressive face flinched away from the anger.

"It could really make a difference," Blair said, his voice unsure now.

"That's good." Jim offered the olive branch, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something cold and biting, like asking why Blair hadn't done something to help him when he needed it.

"Oh man, if you have a problem, just fucking say it. I can't do this!" Blair stood up, scattering the yellow pages again as he faced Jim.

"I didn't say anything." Jim used his tone of voice to warn Blair off.

"No, you don't. You just look at me like I'm shit. You just use that tone of voice that makes it clear I'm one step below a worm."

"I'm not using any tone of voice."

"Bullshit. Save that for someone who didn't know you before--" Blair cut himself off suddenly. "Forget it," he finished as he headed for the door.

"Before you captured me? Before you lied to me?" Jim offered. If they were going to look at the elephant in the room, it was a good place to start.

"I've apologized for that. If you can't just let this go, maybe this isn't the best partnership for either one of us."

Jim felt a flare of panic at the idea of Blair wanting out. He stepped forward so that he stood between the door and Blair, and Blair fell back a step instinctively.

"So, if I'm angry, you'll just call up the Institute and tell them this isn't working out, that they should come and pick up their defective Sentinel?" Jim demanded.

"No!" Blair just about yelled the word as he stepped forward into Jim's personal space. "God, you are the most frustrating asshole on the face of the planet. I just want you to forgive me for capturing you, for lying and for being a fucking idiot and for getting you raped." Blair's voice broke as his eyes shone with tears, and Jim's anger evaporated at the raw pain he could see there.

"Blair," Jim breathed, but Blair had turned and charged off toward the Sentinel room. Jim followed.

"Man, just give me some space here," Blair asked without looking at Jim when he found Jim's hand keeping the door from closing. Jim stood in the open door holding it open, refusing to move.

"No. Chief, we're talking this out right now. You are not to blame for the rape."

"I fucking drew you there. I was an idiot. My first time out there trying to make things right, and I got captured. It is my fault." Blair continued to stare at the far wall, but Jim could see the shivers that went through Blair's frame. He reached up to put a hand on a trembling shoulder, but he stopped, not sure that touch would be welcome right now.

"I made a choice. It was the same choice I made when I slept with Keith. I traded sex for some advantage I wanted, and I don't feel particularly sorry I did it."

Blair slowly looked at him. "Kincaid raped you," Blair whispered, tears brightening his blue eyes.

"Yes, he did. And I've lived my life since I was twelve years old knowing that sooner or later I was probably going to be raped." The words brought back that old memory: his father kneeling on the football field in front of him, shaking him by his arms as he told him what a Sentinel could expect. Before that, Jim had only vague, schoolyard descriptions of sex--a locker room fantasy of girls with big boobs that the boys would whisper when coach wasn't around. But what his father had described hadn't been fantasy or vague. It had been a vicious, cold description of a terrifying act.

"What?" Blair asked, clearly confused, but at least the confusion was driving away the horror and guilt that made Jim's guts twist.

"Chief, I wasn't a dormant Sentinel," Jim admitted. "And that is not to appear in any of those damn articles you write," he quickly added.

"Hey, anthropological standards don't differentiate between Sentinels and non-Sentinels. As a researcher, I can't ethically use any information without a subject's express permission. I promise, Jim, this is just us here."

Jim listened to the heartbeat, weighing his belief that Blair was telling the truth against the fact that Blair had successfully lied to him in the past. He made a choice. "I started showing heightened senses at twelve. Vision first, then hearing. I had developed all five by the time I hit fifteen," Jim admitted.

"But that's--" Blair started, and Jim glared.

"That's what happened. My father was very clear about a Sentinel's life, about how their sexual natures would be turned against them. He would describe in great detail how anyone who knew about my senses would either abuse me by raping me and then forcing me to protect them, or they'd just turn me in. And he made it very clear that if I was turned in, I would have to have sex with whoever the courts gave me to."

Blair's shoulder's sagged, and the room was silent for a minute as he walked to the bed and sat down heavily. "Oh man," he breathed. "That fucking bastard."

"He was trying to protect me," Jim growled, despite the fact that he had the same thoughts about his father on a regular basis.

"But Sentinels don't have to have sex or bond with their guardians. They can work their whole lives without bonding."

"Only if they want to be celibate, Chief. That's not a choice most teens will make."

"But Jamal, down at work. He had his brother as a guardian for five or six years until he met his wife. And yeah, his wife has guardianship now, but he still works with his brother over in Homicide. His life isn't all that different from anyone else's. He grew up, got a job, met a girl, got married."

"He doesn't have the legal right to divorce her without a court approving of it, he doesn't control his own money, his salary is still attached to whoever he works with. He doesn't have equality." Jim ticked off the differences on his fingers.

"Yeah, but he wasn't raped. God, no wonder you ran. Oh geez, you went through Ranger training with your senses." Blair's voice turned to dismay.

"Stop! Stop thinking that because I am a Sentinel I am less capable of doing my job. Damn it, Sandburg, I'm not pissed because you brought me in. I'm fucking furious every time you do something like this."

"What?" Blair demanded, sitting up straight on the bed and crossing his arms.

"Acting like you're surprised I'm competent."

"Man, you are totally competent, and I've never said otherwise, but Ranger training would have included things that should have disabled your senses."

"You assume," Jim snapped.

"Yes, I assume based on hundreds of studies, years of research, and documented case studies."

"That are wrong."

"Oh shit." Blair fell silent, blinking up at Jim. "What if they're all wrong? What if they didn't control for some variable? Okay, we already know that the whole Institute approach damages the control, but what if the rest is wrong?" Blair exploded off the bed so suddenly that Jim stepped back just out of surprise, and Blair was out the door before they could finish their discussion. Jim followed out into the living room, and Blair was pulling seemingly random books off the huge bookcase that covered one wall.

"Can we finish the first can of worms before we open the second?" Jim asked, wondering if maybe he should find Blair the name of a good psychiatrist specializing in adult ADHD.

"Oh," Blair said as he stopped in the middle of the room, three books hugged in his arms. "Yeah, we can do that."

"First, I do not blame you for what Kincaid did. I chose to go in the building knowing full well what would happen, and as an adult, I resent you implying that I didn't have a right to make that choice. And I am still angry that you captured me, but I'm not angry at you."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Blair cut in.

"I know. However, I'm probably going to be cranky about that for a while anyway. But I understand that you did what you thought was right, and I do respect the fact that you're an ethical man, even if your moral compass was a little rusty." Jim watched Blair blush.

"Okay, I'm okay with this part of the talk, so I'm wondering where the worms are in this can." Blair hugged the books to his chest even harder.

Jim sighed. "The part that just pisses me off is all the little stuff."

"Little stuff?" Blair asked when Jim paused.

"Where am I going to be working?" Jim raised an eyebrow and waited.

"With.... Oh," Blair interrupted himself. "Okay, I guess I never actually did ask, and with all that back pay, you can pretty much afford to sit home, or go to college, or pretty much do whatever you want."

"Exactly," Jim agreed. "Let's play a little game, Chief. Your mom's friend, Jim, who just left the Army Rangers after a twenty year career as an officer, comes to crash at your place. Keep in mind that this is a man with a college degree who has lived his whole life without needing you and who has been entrusted to protect national security on any number of occasions. What would you say to him about working?"

"Okay, man, I get the point. Hey, if you don't want to work with me, you can work with someone else without having to change guardianship. I told you about Jamal down at... and that's a slightly intimidating expression there, big guy."

"Think your mom's friend, the Army Ranger," Jim suggested. He could see the moment when it struck Blair, he physically flinched and blushed.

" I totally would not ever try to tell my mom's friend, the big bad Army Ranger officer, what to do about work because that would be a little..."

"Patronizing, emasculating, condescending...."

"Got it," Blair interrupted. "Shit, this is harder than I thought, and I so would have thought I would be better at shifting paradigms. But Jim, you gotta help me out here. I'm really trying, so when I go making assumptions, you need to give me a hand. Let me know. Maybe we can use some signal." Blair stepped toward Jim, dropping the books on the couch as he focused, and Jim could feel the sincerity.

"Maybe I could smack you upside the back of the head every time you do it," Jim suggested slowly as he leaned on the back of the couch.

"Funny," Blair complained. "Very funny. However, you'd probably give me a concussion, and after sharing a hospital bed with you for three days, let me tell you, you're no fun as a patient."

"Oh yeah, and you're a real joy," Jim said sarcastically. "The nurses were ready to drop you out a third story window, Mr. Hyper."

"Okay, let me try this again," Blair said. "Hey, I'd really like it if you wanted to work with me down at the station."

"I don't know," Jim shrugged. "Any interesting cases?"

Blair glared at him for a second and then took a step closer and leaned against the couch so that they stood shoulder to shoulder... or at least shoulder to neck. Jim hadn't realized just how much shorter Blair was until then.

"I have a case in the cold files I was going to reopen. A vice case with a slime ball named Dessy that got bumped up to Major Crimes after the harbor patrol found a key witness floating face down in the Sound."

"New evidence?"

"Kinda. Recently I was in the company of some criminals, and someone mentioned his name."

Jim turned and studied Blair. The kid had on an innocent expression that made him look anything except innocent. "Kincaid mentioned him?"

"One of his goons, yeah."

"You're going after Kincaid?"

"Oh, hell yeah. I'm totally going after Kincaid," Blair agreed. "Just, don't tell Banks I'm going after Kincaid. So, are you in?" Blair looked up at Jim and waited.

"Hell, yeah," Jim answered. The plan could wait; the underground would be there later. But if he had a chance to nail Kincaid before taking off, that would be the icing on the cake. "I want a piece of that." Jim smiled down at Blair, reaching over to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I definitely want a piece of that."

TWENTY THREE  
***  
"Hey guys," Blair called when he walked in the bull pen. Jim walked slightly behind him, but the minute they were through the door, he stepped forward. Even with a new button-up shirt with a collar, he knew his silver Sentinel collar shone below his chin, and he waited for the inevitable reactions.

"Hairboy," a middle-aged black man called out. "We just can't trust you to go anywhere on your own, can we?" Jim recognized him from his brief visit to Major Crimes, but they'd never been introduced. He'd been the one who'd gone with them to the warehouse: Brown. The other detective, Rafe, stood near his desk a few feet away.

"Hey, I'm not the one whose girlfriend tried to run a gambling ring off his cell phone," Blair shot back. Brown gripped his chest as though shot through the heart.

"Wounded. You wound me!" he laughed. "But if we want to get into girlfriends, I have one word for you: Sam."

"Hey, Sam never committed a felony on my phone," Blair defended himself.

"Girl tried to set your eyebrows on fire is all." Brown gave Jim a conspiratorial grin. "That girl is trouble, but when Blair sees trouble, he just charges right at it like a cat going for catnip, every time. And if it's trouble with long legs, well, the boy's got about as much self control as a stray dog going after a bitch in heat."

Jim could feel his guts tighten at the thought of someone physically endangering his guide, even though he knew from the tone that the men were joking about it. No one joked about a serious assault with fire, but all that logic frayed in the face of Jim's sudden need to push Blair behind him and find Sam so that he would know who to keep as far away from his companion as possible. And the part that really infuriated Jim was that Blair might still be dating the woman. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand still with a neutral expression as he casually looked around the room.

"I just appreciate the female form… or the male form for that matter," Blair pointed out. "But once again, because no one seems to be listening to me, my phone is felony-free."

Brown snorted.

"Henri, this is Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Henri Brown," Blair finally introduced them. "He just likes me because with me around, he doesn't get voted worst dressed anymore," Blair joked. Jim eyed the Hawaiian themed shirt the other detective wore. Given a choice, he'd take Blair's colorful vest and ethnic jewelry over green orchids on yellow any day of the week.

"Nice to meet you," Brown said as he stuck out his hand. Jim took it.

"We met at the warehouse. Thank you for that."

"Hey, Hairboy's like our mascot around here. With all that hair, we don't even need to get a costume," Brown joked, but then his face turned serious. "You gave up a lot to help one of our own. That carries a lot of weight around here."

Brown had stopped shaking Jim's hand but he held on for a second. Jim nodded; he'd gotten the message.

When Brown let go of his hand, his crooked smile returned as he gave Jim a wink. "Just one word of advice: don't let Hairboy near your computer. Him and hard drives have this whole hate-hate thing going on."

"Very funny," Blair deadpanned. "Next time you get a disk stuck in your computer, remind me not to help."

"Is that what you were trying to do when you got the paper clip jammed in my computer? No problem, refuse to help away, my man."

"And we've met," the well-dressed detective stepped forward, his eyes going from Brown to Blair. Jim knew from listening to Simon and Blair talk that Blair was the new man in Major Crimes, but Rafe seemed like the new guy—not quite sure how to fit into the war of insults. "Brian Rafe," he introduced himself unnecessarily.

"Nice to see you again," Jim said. Unlike Brown, Rafe's eyes did dart to the collar. Jim resisted an urge to button up his shirt over it, especially since the awkward bulk would just make him look very strange without actually hiding that he was wearing a collar. The first thing he'd done after getting back from shopping for non-Sentinel clothing was to try it. The best he could do was wear a shirt that made the silver difficult to see unless someone looked at him straight on.

"So you're... working with Blair," Rafe nodded, covering his momentary pause quickly, but not quickly enough to keep Brown from looking at him a little strangely. Jim just tightened his jaw.

"Yeah." Jim kept his voice neutral, but he crossed his arms as he waited for something definitive enough to take offense at. The insults that flowed just under the surface annoyed him worse than the open discrimination and hateful comments.

Rafe blushed, his olive tone skin turning a shade darker as his heart sped a little. Jim raised an eyebrow at him.

"Rafe and me have some interviewing to do. Some of us don't take four-day vacations in the middle of the busy season," Brown interrupted the silent war as he pulled at his partner's arm.

"When's it not busy season around here?" Blair asked with a laugh, but he sounded a little off-balance and nervous as well. He'd caught the near slip.

"Damned if I know. But watch your back, Blair. Aldo is still sniffing around," Brown called as he pulled Rafe out into the hall.

Even though they were gone, Jim could still clearly hear them as they waited for the elevator. He tilted his head and listened.

"What is your problem?" Rafe demanded angrily once the doors fell shut.

"So you're... working with Blair?" Brown mimicked, emphasizing the pause. "Bri, buddy, could you be any less subtle?"

"What?"

"He's a Sentinel, not a moron."

"I just... okay, I almost slipped there for a second."

"Oh, I know exactly what word you were thinking, and so did Jim, so let's just not mention it again," Brown advised at the elevator doors dinged open.

Jim did know what word popped into Rafe's mind; he'd ordered his own men not to use it often enough. But Jim had expected more derision, so having only one of Blair's co-workers act like an ass was actually not bad odds. He looked down, and Blair was watching him with wide eyes, waiting.

"Man, that was so not cool. Brian's normally a good guy, Jim, and I am really sorry," Blair said, and Jim realized that Blair had been waiting until Jim stopped listening to the other conversation.

"Don't apologize for someone else's stupidity," Jim said as he looked at the various desks. "Which one is yours?"

Blair wandered over to his desk in the back corner, the messiest in the room, and sat down. Right next to his desk was one that had been just brought in, and it was the only completely clean desk in the room.

"Mine?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "Simon doesn't put up with shit like that, and Henri will call Brian on that. He shouldn't say shit like that."

"He didn't say it," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, but he all *but* said it, and when you think something out loud that loud, that's as good as saying it."

Jim turned a confused look toward Blair. "Look, Junior, a lot of people call it subbing. You're going to hear the term, and God knows I've heard the term."

Blair flinched when Jim said the word. "I get the whole borrowing of terms from one subculture to another, and yeah, people who are into the dom-sub thing use collars too, but this partnership is not about subbing. You don't sub for me," Blair assured him.

Jim looked down at the kid. "No, I don't," he said quietly. Blair looked up, his heart skipping faster for a few beats before it settled into its natural pattern.

"I know." Blair didn't say anything else as he idly chewed on his lip for a second. He blinked, and then he slid into one of his topic changes, his mood shifting as fast as a summer thunderstorm. "Okay, I'm the first to admit that my filing system is a little eccentric," Blair shrugged as he gestured toward the mountain. "I put any personal notes, you know, the kind of things you don't want accidentally ending up in the official record, in the yellow folders. The newer the case, the higher up it is in the stack, and I try to always work on at least one old file a week," Blair said as he craned his head to read the tabs on the various folders.

"One slip, and every file on your desk is going to end up on the floor," Jim observed, allowing Blair to change the topic now that he'd made his point.

"Oh man, don't remind me. Ricardo brought in this drunk guy, and he was staggering all over the place, and when Ricardo went to grab him, to keep him from falling on the floor, he like rebounded or something, and just plowed right into my desk. I was finding lab reports under floor mats for like a month." Blair gave a shiver of horror.

"And that didn't convince you to maybe change your filing system?" Jim asked, crossing his arms as he considered the mess. Putting the most recent on top wasn't the best system, but it was at least a system, and as long as the tabs were clear, it was a workable system. Leaving the files flat on the desk wasn't.

"It's not like I have room in the desk with all my project shit. I only work at the department part time because of my college schedule. Besides, if they're all right here, then I don't have to worry about putting them away, which so won't happen," Blair shrugged. "That's why Simon moved me back into the corner of the room... less chance of drunken filing disasters."

Sitting down in his own chair, Jim started pulling out desk drawers. His own desk was empty of anything except a paper clip caught in the joint of the top drawer. Jim pulled open the large bottom drawer. "Let's use my drawer for filing. You can keep two or three on your desk, and the rest will fit in here. When your stack gets too high, I'll just snag them off your desk and use the same system you use by putting the most recently accessed files in front."

Blair didn't answer. Jim sat back and studied Blair as he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.

"If you don't like the system, just say so. It's your job," Jim said tightly. That got a glare from Blair.

"Man, I'm trying to figure out how my mom's friend Jim would react to doing my filing for me," Blair finally said.

"Your mom's friend Jim would be fine with it if he offered. Since he was an officer, he's probably quite familiar with reports because you do not get promoted up the ranks without being well versed in filing forms in triplicate. Now, if you asked him to do your filing, he'd probably tell you to shove it up your ass," Jim commented mildly.

"Yeah, I knew that last part." Blair rolled his eyes. "And yeah, that sounds good. We don't have anything too urgent right now. Simon had Ricardo and Brown take my most recent cases. I need to follow up on the Taylor case, but Dessy's our top of the pile file." Blair finally found what he wanted in the stack. Holding the tower steady with one hand, he slowly pulled out two files from near the bottom. Jim waited for a disaster, but he somehow pulled them free without sending any files flying. He held out the two folders, one manila with an official sticker on the tab labeled 'Vice 55091-MC 3409' and a second, yellow one with a tab that read 'Dessy.'

"That's Kincaid's partner?" Jim asked quietly as he took the files.

"I don't know if partner's the right word. Kincaid is big time--huge time even. Until the witness ended up dead, Dessy was just one of those second level criminals that was just more annoying than most because we couldn't catch him. Case after case just sort of fizzled because no one could get a wire close to him and his people were way more loyal than the normal 'stab you in the back for a buck' sort that usually work prostitution and drugs. But if he's hooking up with Kincaid, he's looking to move up in the world."

Jim flipped open the official file and skimmed through summaries of phone tap transcripts and reports on a suspected prostitution and drug distribution operation that reached from 3rd street all the way over to Holgate Street. "With this many people involved, there has to be a weak link somewhere."

"Yeah, you'd think so. I mean, hookers and dealers are not well known for their loyalty, but man, vice never got anything to stick until they brought in Roberta Sanchez. She offered to turn if they found her a new home and helped her keep custody of her two kids."

"And she turned up in the river," Jim finished quietly as he turned over a report and found a crime scene photo underneath.

"Kincaid's more national that local. He deals guns and Sentinels to finance his counter-revolution against the government, but he doesn't have a solid base of operations anywhere. There's Camp Freedom that we hear rumors of, but the word on the internet is that it bounces between Idaho and Montana and western Oregon."

"What exactly did you hear in the warehouse?" Jim asked.

Blair's heart rate accelerated, and sour-sweat smell drifted into the air. Jim waited to see if this would be the moment where Blair finally really thought about what Kincaid had done to him, but then the heart slowed as he focused on the case. "One of his men said Dessy was waiting. Kincaid commented that they couldn't afford to keep him waiting too long. It was weird because Kincaid is the big fish there, so he obviously wants something from Dessy. And what Dessy is known for is having an entrenched network in Cascade."

"Most of Dessy's network are African Americans and Latinos," Jim commented. "Kincaid won't consider them real people. If something happens, he'll burn whoever he needs to in order to protect his own end of the business." In the hospital, Jim had finally amused himself by reading background on the man who had raped him and nearly killed Blair. Kincaid's political beliefs made this an awkward partnership at best.

"Dessy's African American, so I can't imagine what is going through his mind that he's willing to do business with a white supremist like Kincaid."

"Money," Jim answered simply. He looked at the crime scene photos from Roberta Sanchez's death. The woman lay sprawled on the shore, one arm obviously broken and her Latino-dark skin mottled with bruises. "They worked on her for a while before killing her if those bruises had time to form."

"Yeah, that's what the M.E. said," Blair answered. The distant tone made Jim look at him over the top of his file. Despite the fact that the kid was a cop, a Major Crimes cop for God's sake, he looked a little green. Jim tried to decide if Blair always reacted this way to death or if his own brush with it had made him more sensitive, but the simple fact remained that he didn't know Blair well enough to even hazard a guess.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, hey, I'm fine," Blair insisted as he swung his chair toward his computer, booting the system up. "And totally ignore what Brown said about me and computers. I do great with computers, but when I first got transferred, I downloaded this neat new program off the internet, and it had a virus in it. I couldn't get the thing turned off before it ate through my whole hard drive and tech support was like furious for days." Blair gave an exaggerated shudder. "You do not want tech nerds mad at you."

Ignoring the sudden shift of topic, Jim rolled his chair closer and reached for the Taylor case file. The sudden scent of panic filled the air, and Blair's hand darted out, but not before Jim could pluck the file away.

"Hey, you know, we should really focus on Dessy."

"You said we should look at the Taylor case," Jim said mildly as he opened the file. Blair's eyes were big as they watched him. It didn't take Jim long to figure out why Blair didn't want him looking at the file: Kari Taylor lay in a pink dress, her tiny hands curled around the fabric of the skirt, even in death. He read through the reports.

"I could do that one on my own," Blair offered softly. Considering the gaunt shade of white the man had turned, no way was Jim letting him wander anywhere alone.

"I served in Honduras before Peru," Jim started, thinking through what to tell Blair and what should remain confidential, not that he had any obligation at this point. "This one guerrilla 'general' was furious that a village helped the Americans, so he slaughtered their children as punishment. I remember this one little girl. She had this long black hair, but unusually pale skin, and she lay with her arms thrown over her face like she just didn't want to see the killing blow." Jim looked over at Blair who stared at him in horror. "Two months later, we were ordered to work with that same general because he'd decided that cooperating with the Americans on some projects was more advantageous."

"Did you kill him?" Blair asked, his voice barely even a whisper.

Jim rolled his eyes. "I wanted to, but if I had, I would have been in prison, not on a mission in Peru a year later. Just because I hate shit like this," Jim tapped the folder with Kari Taylor's autopsy photos, "does not mean that I'm going to go out of control." Blair opened his mouth to argue, but Jim pointed at the blinking box on the computer screen. "Log in," he said.

Blair swiveled his chair toward the computer, and Jim took the opportunity to give Blair's head a sharp smack.

"HEY!" Blair yelped as he jerked around.

Jim smirked. "You're the one who wanted a signal," he reminded Blair sweetly.

"Yeah, and I said hitting was probably a bad idea."

"You said concussions were a bad idea," Jim corrected him. "Something about how you're a bad, bad patient. I don't think I gave you a concussion, but if you want, I can check your pupils."

"Smart ass."

"I have more than one smart part."

"Yeah, your alec is pretty smart, too," Blair grumbled.

Jim laughed, until he spotted the Taylor file on the desk again. "You never had a Sentinel go over the scene," he said as he flipped open the file and looked at the cemetery where the child's body had been found under an oak.

"Sentinels and dead, abused children. Not generally a good mix," Blair shrugged. "Department policy is to make sure that never the twain shall meet, but I guess Simon just didn't think about that."

Jim liked to think that Simon had thought about that, but Blair might be right. "Let's go over there. I'm sure it's rained once or twice, but with a crime scene that large, something might have survived."

"If you're..." Blair started. Jim reached over and smacked the back of his head hard enough to send his head bobbing forward and make his hair flop around.

"Stop it," Blair growled as he struck out with an elbow. Jim caught the elbow only to have a foot kick him in the shin.

"Feisty little shit," Jim complained as he let go and backed away. Blair pushed his hair back and glared.

"Geez, I liked you better when you were cranky. You in a good mood is just dangerous."

"Only if you forget about your mom's friend, Jim. You keep your head screwed on straight, and we'll be fine."

"Right, screwing," Blair muttered as he stood up and grabbed the file. Jim had been ready with a smart alec comment, but his tongue tangled so badly that he didn't come up with anything until Blair was already to the door. Pushing away thoughts of Blair and screwing, Jim got up to follow. It was time to start earning his pay and showing that months of FBI training with his senses, added onto years of Ranger training, could do the impossible.

TWENTY FOUR  
***  
"So, how do we handle this?" Jim asked as Blair pulled in through the rusty gates of the cemetery where Kari Taylor had been found, large finger bruises around her throat and her hands clutching the dress that had been pushed up around her waist. Jim could feel the silent rage that everyone so feared in Sentinels, but he pushed it to the side. Losing his cool wouldn't help Kari.

Blair parked the car and stepped out onto the gravel, looking around before he focused on the oak sitting just back from the exit. "I want everything. Man, I want to know if a bee has been walking over the grass," Blair answered.

"Blair," Jim started slowly as he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He struggled for the words to explain. "I don't think you have any idea how much I can see and smell. You can't possibly want all of it."

Blair turned and gave him an impish grin. "Oh, I totally do. I want every clue, and if I have to, I'll chase down every single one until I find the one clue that no one can explain. Simon calls my detective work the 'rabbit down the hole' approach because he tells me I spend too much time trying to chase every rabbit down every hole, but it works for me."

"Rabbit down the hole?" Jim asked. "I hate to break it to you, Chief, but that doesn't sound complimentary."

"Yeah, whatever." Blair shrugged. "But I have a closure record that's neck and neck with Brown, and he's been at this a lot longer than me. Good months, my stats beat him." Blair bounced a bit on his toes and winked at Jim. "They may call me a miniature poodle every now and then, but this poodle is beating the big dogs."

Jim rolled his eyes. The kid was definitely unique, and given just *how* unique he was, it was a good thing he never had gone into the army. Jim had visions of some poor sergeant trying to drill the weirdness out of the kid. "So, you want everything. You're about to be sorry," Jim warned.

"No way. This is simple scientific method, man, just science and logic. Make observations, form a hypothesis that would explain the observations, make a prediction about how the various elements would work if the hypothesis is right and test. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"It works?" Jim didn't normally do investigating. As a soldier, he was the hand that acted after other people investigated and determined the best place for action. They said that a pass had to remain clear of drug runners or a man had to die or a scientist had to be evacuated, and Jim got the job done. And with Keith, Jim had pretty much just shuffled after the man picking up the paperwork debris that trailed after him wherever he went.

Now he followed Blair across the lawn toward the place of death. The police tape was gone, but Jim could still see a bit of yellow caught on the edge of the nearby statue where Jesus sat watching them.

"Yep," Blair agreed. "Like on the Hall case. I noticed that she had these gorgeous rose beds with perfect bushes and vines, I mean, not a leaf out of place. Mom and I stayed at this commune once, a place where all these activists would come together once a year, like a holy conclave of counter-culture, and they had a rose garden like that. This one old guy just about lived in the yard. He'd take a giant umbrella, and stick it in the ground, and then sit on a stool as he plucked each sucker off by hand and pulled bugs off each leaf and smashed them between his calloused fingers." Blair held up his hand and mimicked crushing a bug.

"So, anyway, I figure Debbie Hall must spend a lot of time outside, which leads to the question of why. Hypothesis: her marriage was in trouble and she didn't want to spent time with her husband. Prediction: her husband would explode if I accused him of hiding their marital problems. I tested it, and her husband was just confused."

"So, you weren't right," Jim pointed out. "That's not sounding like a successful plan to me."

"You're forgetting the lather, rinse, repeat step, man," Blair winked.

"So, back to square one, the observation. She wants to be outside. So I sit outside her house for two days, and what I notice is the neighbor kids are always playing right there by the roses because of a tree on their property." Blair's hands started to move quicker as he got excited.

"And that's important because…"

"Turns out, she was talking to those kids, trying to get them to come forward about the fact their father was sexually abusing them. She almost had them willing to talk to the police, and that's why her neighbor murdered her."

"You nailed him," Jim finished with satisfaction.

"Oh man, I nailed him big time. He went down for murder, 36 years and nearly got the death penalty because he'd done it to hide the commission of another crime, the rape of his own kids. And pedophiles are not well liked in jail man. At best, he's going to get out when he's in his late seventies." Blair brought up his fist in a gesture of victory, and Jim laughed as he let his hand rest on his companion's shoulder. He was a good man.

"Chief, I can see where your method has merit, but you're asking me to share everything. That's…" Jim paused. "That's a lot," he finished.

"I totally get that." Blair's hands came up, brushing Jim's chest as they gestured. "And I know that most of the details are like big old red herrings, but if we don't have all the information, how can we make a hypothesis that might describe the observable phenomenon?"

"You asked for it, kid." Jim shook his head as they approached the area Jim recognized from the crime scene photos. A few items had been added to the small hill under the tree where the body had lain. "Those are new," Jim commented as he studied the small display. Two pots of marigolds flanked a small ceramic dog statue, a teddy bear leaning against his side.

"Oh man. That's—" Blair started forward, but Jim put an arm across his chest to block him, and Blair fell silent as he turned a puzzled expression toward Jim.

"Slow down there, Speedy. If you want to know everything that a Sentinel can know about this place, I don't need one more set of footprints across the scene, not considering how many people have already gone traipsing through here," Jim complained as he knelt down onto the grass and studied the ground.

"What do you need me to do?" Blair asked as he crouched down about two inches away. Jim could feel Blair's body heat warming the air between them.

"Be quiet," Jim suggested. Blair's mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.

Jim lowered himself so that he had an ant's eye view of the ground, his hand braced on the cool ground. A twig pricked him. "Lots of people have been walking here. Most from the path behind us. I see at least two different women's feet."

"Women?" Blair breathed. Jim blinked and looked over at Blair. Well, the kid had managed to be quiet for maybe fifteen seconds. Now he knelt next to Jim, notepad in hand.

"Either women or cross dressers with abnormally small feet. There are indentations from heels," Jim said as he shook his head and then went back to studying the scene. Light reflected off the individual blades of grass, and Jim tracked the changes as footsteps created tilts that he could barely see like a holographic image that appeared only when you tilted it just right.

Jim slid a few inches to the left and studied the ground more. "Lots of children's feet, six or seven maybe. There were officers all over here, lots of old tracks, barely visible," Jim commented and then he pointed to a spot on the ground. "Wheels rolled through here, probably the stretcher. The children's feet and the two women are fresher. One or two people in work boots walked through recently. One person in dress shoes, big feet."

Jim slowly crab-walked a few feet left in pursuit of the trail. Near the statue of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jim found what he wanted. Right and left prints right next to each other in the ground. The edges were blurred by rain, but Jim could still see what he'd been searching for.

"I'm guessing a man from the shape of the sole, and he has a heavy limp. He isn't walking well on his left leg," Jim said as he reached out and ran fingertips over the ground, judging the depth of the two steps.

"Oh, man! That's Kari's father. He has a prosthetic leg because of a car accident two years ago, but the question is why he's out here and not at her grave or sitting in her room. Oh yeah, that's a clue!" Blair stood up, and Jim immediately felt the loss of the man's heat.

"He stood here for a long time, facing away from the hill," Jim said as he leaned back on his heels and looked toward where the man must have been staring. He could just see the tall wall that surrounded the old cemetery. A fringe of weeds hid the bottom of the wall, and the mortar between the bricks was crumbling. Someone had mowed the cemetery a few weeks ago, but the grass had the uneven look of a lawn that needed more care. Dandelions stuck yellow heads out here and there, and one had already gone to seed, the white fluff nearly gone from the flower stalk. This was not a view Jim would want to stare at for very long.

He turned around and Blair was staring at him with open eyes. "You see something?" he asked, his eyes darting behind Jim.

"Yeah, a pretty sad place for anyone to die," Jim answered as he stood up and walked to the spot where some visitor had left Kari the gifts. Jim studied them from every angle, but he could only see the obvious: yellow pom-pom flowers tinged with orange, fern-like leaves, the synthetic hairs of the teddy bear magnified until they became a forest of dirty white stained with smudges, the uneven paint strokes under the varnish on the ceramic dog. A few peppermint candies lay on the ground near the base of one flowerpot.

"Nothing here," Jim said as he blinked, a headache just starting to gnaw at the edges of his awareness.

Blair stepped close, his hand resting on Jim's arm. "No way. Man, there's everything here. A dog put out for the dead, marigolds—this is classic Day of the Dead decorations, or since Kari was just a baby, really it would be Día de los Angelitos. But this isn't the commercial crap you see in Walmart with plastic skulls."

Bending down, Blair fingered a marigold leaf. "Traditional belief says that the dead can smell marigolds and will follow that scent to find what people have left for them. On the actual Day of the Dead, some families put marigolds on the grave and then wait for the spirits to return and others leave a trail of marigold leaves from the grave to the house so the dead can follow. Someone wanted Kari to know that they left something for her."

"The bear," Jim said. He crouched down close to the bear without touching it, bracing his hands on the ground as he opened his sense of smell: human sweat and salt and peanut butter and dirt. "Someone's carried it around for a long time," Jim said when he stood up. "The dog is new, but the bear has been washed multiple times, and it still smells like peanut butter and sweat. And the bear hasn't been out here long, it wasn't rained on, but the father's footprints have been."

"The dog is to protect her. Whoever left this is from Mexico, and they believe that you send a dog with the dead to help them across the river. Ancient tribes in Mexico would cremate a dog and bury it with the dead to help them navigate the afterlife."

"Charming," Jim said dryly.

"Hey, it's just as valid a belief as putting coins on the eyes or leaving flowers on the grave."

"Whatever," Jim said as he walked around the scene.

"Yeah, well it means there's something about Kari I don't know because none of her family would have any of these beliefs."

"No Mexicans in her family tree?" Jim asked, studying the display again.

"No way. I'm sorry, but if her name were Maria or even Letisha, do you really think this case would have come to Major Crimes?"

"I'm surprised you're okay with that." Jim watched while Blair flushed white and then slowly blushed with anger.

"No fucking way am I alright with that." Blair spit the words out, his hand jabbing the air in front of him, and Jim wondered just which of them was more likely to emotionally explode first. Sentinel instincts or no, he was betting on Sandburg. "I mean, Simon's great about trying to get a case if I go in there and raise a fuss, but a little white girl gets killed, and no one has to fight to get the case transferred; that's a major crime. Sometimes I really do hate the system, but that doesn't mean that Kari deserves less of my attention."

So Sandburg wasn't the total idealist. "The system isn't perfect," Jim agreed, and as one of the cogs in the system, he had a fairly unique view of its imperfections.

"It's not fair. Two little black girls were strangled and left in alleys, and Simon had to go all the way to the commissioner to get that case transferred. I never said the system was perfect, but all I can do is try to make it work. I found the junkie who killed Felisha and Natalie, and I'll find the asshole who killed Kari," Blair vowed as he got an expression Jim had learned to label the kid's stubborn face.

"We should bag the dog and take it in for fingerprinting. Maybe the wrappers on the outside of the flowerpots too," Blair said, his voice all business now as he focused on the case. Oh yeah, no sublimating emotions there at all, Jim thought as he watched one more sudden shift. He'd seen plenty of guys do that in the army. The kid might be quick to show some feelings, like frustration or awe, but he buried the truly dark ones just as deep as any covert ops sniper Jim had ever met. No wonder the kid shrugged off every mention of his own torture at Kincaid's hands.

"Not the bear?" Jim asked, squinting as the sun finally slid out from behind the ragged blanket of clouds covering the sky.

Jim glanced over and Blair was staring at the bear, the sorrow radiating from him so strongly that Jim felt an urge to go slip an arm around the man and offer some empty words of comfort. That emotional dam of his wasn't going to last for much longer.

"It was hers. Let her keep it," Blair eventually said. He blinked, and next thing Jim knew, the man was trotting across the lawn toward their parked car. "I'm just going to get an evidence bag, I'll be right back," Blair yelled over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Jim stretched his neck and then focused on relaxing so that he could open his sense of smell to the whole scene. This was the hardest for him to control. When he sniffed an object, he could control the strength of the input, but opening himself to the environment would sometimes lead to him waking up in the Institute infirmary with Sam hovering over him, asking if he wanted to talk about what had triggered the zone. Now he had to take several breaths before he could slowly open it.

The marigolds struck him first, their pungent odor sending him stumbling back a step. A warm hand rested on his back, and Jim found his balance again as he reached out blindly, his eyes still closed. He found a strong shoulder and focused on the scents. Stale coffee, Jojoba shampoo, cream conditioner, spicy musk—in some corner of his mind, Jim realized he was smelling his companion. He took a deep breath to chase the more subtle scents. Traces of incense clung to Blair, a hint of something cinnamon, the remains of yesterday's garlic bread under the salt of his sweat. Jim catalogued it and then focused on the larger scene.

The marigold smell returned, but this time, Jim easily pushed it aside. Immediately, he noticed ammonium nitrate. His eyes opened, and he looked the direction of the potential explosive. A row of apple trees on the far side of the cemetery told him why there were traces of that fertilizer in the air. Jim closed his eyes again and focused on the other scents.

Flowers, dirt, the warm smell of the oak, water somewhere near that was gathering slime mold. Jim could faintly smell a number of human traces as well, the salty scent of people ghosting through his awareness.

Sighing, Jim opened his eyes. "Nothing important, Chief. Some fertilizer for the apple trees, people's sweat, dirt, water turning slimy, you. That's all I'm getting."

"That's okay, man. We have some new clues here."

"So, any hypotheses?" Jim asked as he walked away from Blair and leaned against the tree. The rough bark distracted him from his still open sense of smell.

"Okay, let's work with the father's prints for a second. He comes here, so he wants some privacy with Kari."

"Maybe a little inappropriate privacy," Jim commented as he considered the idea that a man could rape and kill his own child, but it happened more than he liked to think about.

"Yeah. Man, it's going to be ugly if that's true. That's okay, I have another job if this investigation blows up in my face," Blair shrugged. "Okay, so we need to make a prediction and test it. I'm thinking I'm just going to ask him outright why he was here. If he has to struggle to come up with an answer, then it's time to do the kind of digging that can pretty much end my career."

"He's that powerful?" Jim asked.

"Golf buddies with the mayor," Blair said sadly. "But if he did it, he's going to be bed buddies with some guy with prison tats."

"I'll be able to tell you if he's lying, well, unless he's as good at lying as you."

"No way," Blair quickly said as he held up his hands and backed away as though horrified. "No way can we get a warrant for a Sentinel-observed interrogation."

"So, just ask him to consent. Even if he doesn't, it tells you something important," Jim pointed out as he struggled to shut down his sense of smell which seemed locked onto the musk of Blair's sweat. He was working with the kid until he could get Kincaid and bury the son of a bitch under the jail, but he couldn't allow his senses to get carried away. The closer he got to Blair, the harder it would be to break the bond, and right now, his dick wanted to get a whole lot closer. He focused on the case, using his anger at Kari's father to divert his own recalcitrant reactions. "He refuses to let me stay, and we'll know he's hiding something," Jim finished.

"Yeah, great idea," Blair snorted. "Jim, no *way* am I going to ask him to have a Sentinel observe considering that police policy is that Sentinels don't work pedophile cases. Man, that would get back to the mayor's office so fast that it would break the sound barrier. Simon would hear the sonic boom downtown in his office. I mean, this is so far outside the regs that if you did go postal and snap Mr. Taylor's neck, I would get arrested for manslaughter."

Jim reached over and bopped Blair on the head.

"Hey!" Blair complained, his arm coming up to defend himself from a second smack.

"I'm going to go postal?" Jim demanded.

"I didn't say that, you dork. I said IF. IF you went postal, which you are so not going to do, but you may give me a concussion if you don't stop hitting me," Blair protested.

Jim stopped and mentally rewound the conversation. "How the hell am I supposed to help you with the investigation if I have to hide in the shadow every time there's work to do?" Jim demanded instead, ignoring the fact that he might have slightly over reacted. From the glare Blair gave him as he rubbed his head, he noticed the change of topic.

"How are we supposed to work if we get our asses thrown off the case?" Blair countered. "Man, I don't like this, but there's a system that will only flex just so much."

"So I wait at the car," Jim said in frustration.

"Man, I don't see another way to play this. But I'm good at spotting a liar, so if Mr. Taylor gives me a line, it might be enough to get Simon to do something."

"Something," Jim echoed. "Simon might do something while Taylor has time to erase any evidence that might still be left."

"I don't know how else to work it! I have interviewed every member of the family, and this is the first crack in the shield. I just can't have any possible conviction ruined because I had a Sentinel illegally monitor the conversation. What is your conversational range, anyway?" Blair asked.

"The Institute lists it as 103 yards," Jim said, taking a page from Blair's book of obfuscation.

"Wow. That's amazing. Okay, I'll park down the street, and go ask the father why he's coming out here."

Jim clenched his jaw and nodded, not like he had any other choice. Of course, there would still be a chance for him to listen in on the conversation if he could control the zone out factor. It wasn't easy for him to hear past his official limit, but he certainly could. It never paid to give the enemy too much information. "Fine," he snapped.

Jim turned and started back toward the car. He hadn't gotten far before a leggy blonde came around the wall, practically running through the open gate, and Jim instinctively moved back so that he was between her and his companion, his hands curling into fists since he had no better weapon.

A man came running after her, camera bouncing on his shoulder as he flicked the light on so that it shone in Jim's eyes so that he had to throw up an arm to keep from being blinded.

"Detective Sandburg. Would you care to comment about why the department has brought a Sentinel in on this case despite departmental policy?" the reporter called, breathless as she reached them with the microphone. Jim could smell Blair's panic, but the man stood his ground.

"Wendy. Come on, you know I'm not going to comment on a case," he said as he detoured around Jim's back and headed for the car. The camera man got between Blair and the car before Jim got between the camera man and Blair, crossing his arms over his chest. The camera backed off.

"So, that's a 'no comment' from Detective Sandburg, but as the viewers can see, he has brought a Sentinel to the site of the Kari Taylor murder, suggesting that the department is taking desperate steps to solve this brutal homicide," Wendy announced to the camera.

"Wendy, come on, I've done right by you. Don't do this." Blair sounded almost desperate now.

"So, treat me right now, and I won't use the footage," she suggested as she turned her back to the camera. The red light kept flashing.

"Wendy." Blair ran his hand through his hair as he looked from her to the cameraman.

"Take five, Danny. I'll be right back," Wendy said as she moved forward and slipped her arm through Blair's. The cameraman turned the camera and light off as Wendy pulled Blair away from Jim and farther into the cemetery. "Let's talk, just the two of us," she almost purred, but the stink of Blair's panic just intensified.

Ignoring her none-too-subtle hint, Jim stepped to Blair's other side and put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "If you don't get your hands off him, I might come to the conclusion you are assaulting an officer," Jim commented mildly as he walked beside them. Wendy faltered, and dropped Blair's arm.

"Wendy, this is Jim Ellison," Blair introduced them. "Jim was an Army Ranger before his senses came on line. Jim, this is Wendy Hawthorne, the most annoying, persistent, pain in the ass reporter at KCDE."

Wendy almost preened at the description. "But not for long. I'm going national, and you know I can get things done. I can make things happen for you." Jim could hear the conspiratorial tones, and he looked at Blair curiously.

"Okay, don't spread this around, to like *anybody*, including Simon, but I might have been a source for her once or twice," Blair whispered, his eyes darting toward the cameraman who had retreated all the way to the gate. Unless he was a Sentinel, he wasn't hearing anything.

"Chief, you just have all kinds of surprises."

"I always protect your identity, and you know that my coverage of the Robertson case is the only thing that kept it from going right under the rug. I've helped you, Blair. Don't shut me out now," Wendy pleaded, her hand reaching up to briefly touch Blair before she pulled it back again.

"Robertson, that's the IA case," Jim said, remembering that name from a conversation between Blair and Simon at the hospital. Blair nodded.

"He was Internal Affairs. He had a sweet racket going by skimming off all the other dirty cops and keeping IA running in circles, only I caught wind of his operation when an informer told me that Robertson threatened him."

"That's why Aldo hates you," Jim said, putting the pieces together.

Blair laughed. "Oh, yeah. And Wendy turning it into the six o'clock lead didn't make me any more popular with the IA guys."

"You're the one who said that it was better than letting him retire without paying for what he did," Wendy reminded him. "Blair, we have always worked together before because we're after the same thing, the truth."

"No, you're after a career." Blair angled his body to face Wendy, moving back just a little so that his back leaned into Jim's side, and Jim tightened his fingers around Blair's shoulder, letting him know he was staying right there. Blair took a deep breath. "Wendy, if you put that footage on the news, you're going to blow our best chance of catching Kari's killer."

"Who's your prime suspect?" Wendy asked, excitement making her voice tight.

"We don't have one… we only have theories. But this investigation was cold before Jim, and we can't afford to get kicked off the case."

"So, you're confirming that you don't have official sanction for bringing a Sentinel in on the case?" Wendy leaned forward with an expression of triumph.

"Man, come ON! Give me a break here," Blair begged, and Jim could feel tension curling in his stomach.

"It's a story, Blair. Look, I'll hold this for two days. If you can give me something better to air, I will, but the public is demanding answers, and this is news."

"Two days? Wendy, this case is nearly two weeks old, cut me some slack."

"I am. My producer would kill me if he knew I was sitting on this for two minutes. He would break into the afternoon shows and call this breaking news. Blair, I can't just give you a pass on this one because sooner or later, someone else is going to notice your Sentinel. He's not exactly small."

"Two days. Two days, and I'll give you something better," Blair promised weakly.

"I know you will. I'll do what I can to cover for you, Blair, you know that."

"You just won't give up a chance to advance your career, even if it risks an entire investigation," Jim commented as he studied the woman. For the first time, she really studied his face, and Jim resisted the urge to slap the woman who had so completely ignored him up to this point.

"Blair knows I'll do what I can for him," she shrugged before she turned away. Clearly, Jim's opinion of her didn't matter at all. Jim might have gone after her, he might have grabbed her arm and swung her around before telling her a truth or two she didn't want to hear, except Blair chose that moment to lean back, his eyes closed as he let his head fall back against Jim's shoulder.

"Oh man, we are so screwed. Two days. Fuck."

"We'll find something," Jim promised. Okay, so now he had two cases to solve before he started pursuing his plan again. That was okay. He just needed to make sure he didn't let the kid get too close to him. Jim stood with Blair's weight resting on him, the heat of his body soaking in, the scent of Blair's sweat in his nose, and he blinked as the world grayed out for just a second, as though he didn't have enough oxygen. "Let's get moving," Jim said as he shook his head and pushed Blair gently away, forcing him to stand on his own two feet.

"Moving, right," Blair agreed, smelling of misery as he started back toward his car. "Moving is good. God, we are so screwed."

TWENTY FIVE  
***

"Okay, I'm going to go talk to the father. Ask him point blank why he would want to go to the place where his daughter was raped and murdered."

"You're going to put it like that?" Jim asked as Blair parked the car quite a ways from the actual house. The Taylors had a large property on the edge of the city, so that left them near the back wall of their land.

"I think I can put it a little more diplomatically," Blair said as he opened the door. Jim got out his side. "No offense, but you cannot come."

"I'm just stretching my legs," Jim assured him. "And we're outside my official range."

Blair looked at him suspiciously and Jim just gazed back with his best poker-face. It worked because Blair shook his head and then started down the sidewalk. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called over his shoulder.

"Too late, I already have, many times over," Jim answered as he leaned back against the sedan they'd checked out from the police garage. Blair didn't answer, but Jim focused on his heartbeat, watching the back vanish around the corner and then closing his eyes as he let his hearing follow Blair to the front door.

Doorbell. Wind through tree branches. Door opening.

"Yes?" A woman's voice, thready… an old woman.

"I'm Detective Sandburg. I needed to speak with Mr. Taylor." Feet shuffling. Movement inside the house. Jim took just a second to marvel at how clearly he could hear at a distance that would have been a struggle just a month ago. He was definitely recovering from the damage the Institute had inflicted with their misguided attempt to protect him.

"Come in. Alan's upstairs. If you'll just wait…"

"Yes, ma'am," Blair agreed. Door closing. Footsteps over tile, dragging like the person was too tired to pick the feet up. A truck rumbled past, and Jim blinked in surprise, the distraction breaking him away from the house.

"Fuck," he cursed as he focused his hearing on where Blair had been just a moment ago. Struggling to filter out all the various noises between, Jim finally heard Blair speaking, although now Jim had to struggle to hear past the sounds of children's laughter and a distant lawn mower, and a television turned up way too far in one of the nearby houses.

"… talk in private?" Blair was asking. Jim missed the next bit, and then they obviously moved because when he heard Blair's voice again, the echoes were different.

He strained, ignoring the warbling sound at the edges that warned that he was on the cusp of a spike. "… at the cemetery. I'm just wondering why you would want to visit that place, in particular."

"I just wanted to see." Jim focused on the voices, filtering out the closer sounds and firmly ignoring the uneven warbles of his own distorted hearing.

"See what?" Blair prompted, his voice sharp. If the man had something to hide, he'd react to that tone. Hell, Jim had snapped back when confronted with a tone half as confrontational as that.

"I had to see where. I just… I don't know. I didn't disturb anything at the scene," Mr. Taylor answered weakly. Jim couldn't hear any stressors of lying, but at this distance he didn't trust his judgment either.

"Did you touch anything?"

"The tree. The bench near the statue. I just needed to see…"

"Mr. Taylor, did you see anyone at the cemetery?" Blair asked, his tone much more neutral. Jim didn't hear an answer. "How long ago did—"

"Ollie, ollie oxen free," a girl's voice scattered his focus and Jim stumbled back, nearly going to one knee as the sounds of the neighborhood boomed in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull.

"Not now, Lal," an older girl sighed.

"Kari would have played with me. You're just… aburrido," the girl said. The voice sounded eight or nine.

"Aburrida," the older girl corrected her. Jim shook his head free of the clinging strands of sounds he didn't want and wandered to the fence. Walking away from the direction Blair had gone, Jim followed it until he reached a wide gate set back into a recessed alcove.

Even though he reached for the handle, he expected the gate to be locked. It wasn't. Jim found himself in the shade of an old tree, a gardener's shack to his left, and the view to the main house blocked by row of trees. A weed-eater leaned against the side of the windowless building and six children played in the area. He watched a girl of about nine throw herself to the ground next to a sister who looked pretty much the same age.

Their jeans and t-shirts were neat, well, except for the littlest boy who had mud handprints streaked across the yellow, but Jim guessed they weren't the Taylors'.

"Hey, guys," Jim said without moving away from the gate. He didn't need to send them running, screaming about a renegade Sentinel. That probably wasn't what Blair had in mind.

The kids froze, the little boy's fingers still clutching a captured worm.

An older boy, even darker than the others stepped forward. "Wow. You're a Sentinel." He looked like he was maybe thirteen.

"Yeah, I'm a Sentinel," Jim agreed without much enthusiasm as he scanned the group. "You guys sound like you're having fun back here." Having fun and talking about Kari, but he didn't add that. A plastic tea cup was half buried in the ground, the mud dried to dirt around it, and the grass was worn and yellow from overuse. They played back here a lot.

"We're playing train," a little girl with dark pigtails offered as she left her two older sisters. One of the girls, maybe ten, made a grab for the small arm, but the little one danced away. She must have been five or six, and Jim remembered Stevie at that age; he wouldn't be told what to do either. She was the youngest, the little boy with the worm probably a year older and then two middle girls and two older ones, one boy and one girl who stayed in the shadows and watched, a book in her lap.

"Raul has a collar looks just like that," the little girl added as she pointed to Jim's neck and then looked at the older boy, the one who had stepped forward. Jim self-consciously reached up and touched the warm metal locked around his neck. Glancing over, Jim could see Raul blush.

"It was… It's just something that the guys sometimes…" Raul stumbled into silence and shrugged.

"I don't understand why you'd want to, but it's not like it bothers me," Jim reassured the boy.

"You don't understand?" Raul's accent thickened as he raised his voice. "You're a Sentinel. You have these amazing abilities and everyone looks up to you and respects you, and maybe even has a little fear of you. How can you not understand why we'd…" He stopped and blushed even darker.

Jim struggled as he considered just how to answer that, how to deal with adolescent worship when being a Sentinel was really more about slavery than respect. Just because most people never saw the chains didn't mean they weren't always there… in a guardian's closet, waiting in every ambulance, stored in the hospital which would pull them out and chain any Sentinel who came in just because he might lose control.

"Raul," Jim said quietly. "A Sentinel shouldn't get any more respect or any less respect than any other man. Every man should earn respect by what he does."

Raul looked at him solemnly, but Jim was distracted by a pull on his arm. The little girl had his hand, or his fingers rather. Jim knelt down. "Hi, I'm Jim," he offered.

"Maria," she immediately answered with a smile. "I never touch a Sentinel." She reached up, and Jim tensed, expecting her to touch the collar. Instead she touched his cheek and then laughed. "Prickly!" she announced.

Jim rubbed his whiskers. "My partner is a bathroom hog and I didn't have much time to shave," Jim admitted as he found the small patch he'd missed. "Do you play out here much?"

"Mama works in the house," one of the middle girls said as she stood up, it was the one who had complained that Kari would have played with her.

"And Mama says to not talk to strangers," said the oldest girl who jumped off the tree branch where she'd been sitting. She looked fourteen or fifteen, but her voice had the decisive authority of an adult.

"He's not a stranger; he's a Sentinel," Raul argued.

"You're mother's a smart woman," Jim interrupted before the kids could get into a real argument. "But I'm just looking for some help trying to find who hurt Kari." All the kids went silent. Jim was still crouching beside the littlest, so he could see her eyes shine with tears.

"Mama said Kari's in heaven," she whispered.

"Maria, hush," the oldest girl hissed as she came forward and pulled Maria away by the shoulder. Jim stood up and faced her.

"You left her presents," Jim guessed as he looked at the girl.

"He already knows, Carmen, so we ain't telling things he don't already know," Raul said, the voice that had been full of awe before was now as snotty as a little brother could be. Jim remembered that tone all too well, even if the words were different. Raul turned to Jim. "They wouldn't let us into the cemetery where they buried her, so we went out to where she was—we left some stuff," he agreed.

"Raul," the oldest, Carmen, threatened with a killer glare, but then Maria started to cry, and she crouched down so the little girl could put her arms around her sister and hide her face in Carmen's shoulder.

"My partner and I found the dog and the bear. It was nice of you to leave that for her," Jim said quietly.

"Roo." Maria whispered. She turned her tear-streaked face to Jim. "I left her Roo because her mama said she couldn't bring her toys out with her 'cause they get dirty and I wanted her to have someone to play with."

"That was special, sharing your Roo with her," Jim said softly, but it only made the little girl cry harder so that she turned back to her sister's shoulder. Jim stood immobilized, not sure how to handle the crying Maria or the two middle sisters, one of whom took ragged breaths while the other stared at the ground. The little boy sat jabbing a stick into the dry ground over and over, chipping away at a tiny hole. There wasn't anything he *could* do to make any of them feel better.

"Raul, take the others down to the corner," Carmen said as she picked Maria up and delivered her to a brother who could barely hold her weight. "Get them a soda to share." She reached in her pocket and pulled out two dollars.

"And maybe some ice cream," Jim added as he reached for his wallet. He pulled out a ten.

"We don't need your money," Carmen said, stepping between her brother's outreached hand and Jim's offering.

"No, you don't. But I said things in front of them that I shouldn't have, and I didn't mean to make them cry. I figure I owe them something to fix that," Jim said quietly. "If you don't want the money, you can give it to whoever you like." Jim kept the money out and the whole scene froze.

"I want ice cream." The boy on the ground scrambled up and flung himself at Carmen's legs. "Helado!"

"Great," she sighed as she glared at Jim and then yanked the ten dollar bill from his hand. Jim resisted the urge to smile. "Fine, ice cream."

The offer didn't exactly cheer up anyone except for the youngest boy who raced for the back gate, but at least the tears had stopped. Jim waited until the younger ones were gone.

"You knew Kari," he said gently. Carmen sighed.

"Yeah. She would play back here. Her parents… they didn't really know what to do with a kid." Carmen turned her back and headed into the shadow of the trees, back to the branch where she originally sat.

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Aren't you the police?" she countered.

Jim considered that. He hadn't ever joined or given his oath or filled out an application. If anything, he still thought of himself as a soldier, but one without a country to serve because Jim would never again defend a country that did the things America did to its Sentinels. In the back of his head, he had always hoped that his father had exaggerated, but after months in the Institute, he wasn't sure the old man had even scratched the surface.

"Not really," he shrugged. "My partner is a cop, but I'm just sorta the ride-along."

"I didn't think Sentinels were supposed to lie."

"They can lie as well as anyone else," Jim corrected her, "but I’m not. In fact, I'd appreciate you not mentioning to the Taylors that I was out here because the police don't think a Sentinel should be investigating this kind of crime."

"They think you'll kill the bastard that did this," Carmen said, her voice suddenly hard, and Jim understood that she wanted him to kill the murderer. She was queen and caretaker over her little covey, and Kari had been part of group, by choice if not by blood.

"He doesn't deserve to die; it'd be too quick, and killing another person is not something to ever do lightly. He deserves to go to jail."

Carmen nodded, but with the younger ones gone, he could see her struggle against her own tears.

"Did Kari ever have bruises or complain about someone touching her?"

"You mean Mr. Taylor," Carmen said, but she shook her head. "He wasn't home much. He'd see her in the morning, sometimes he'd just lean out the back door and wave when she was on her swings. But he wouldn't come home until Kari was asleep. And I would have known if anyone hurt her. She would have told me or I would have seen the bruises."

"You're sure?"

"Look, I shouldn't be talking to you," Carmen said as she jumped off the branch again, and this time she headed for the back gate. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I'm a Sentinel, not a stranger," Jim repeated her brother's words, and she scowled at him.

"You're a cop. The first rule is don't talk to strangers, and the second is don't talk to cops." With that, Carmen ran out of maturity. She turned and ran for the back gate, her hair flying and Jim could hear the sobs start.

"Nice, Ellison," Jim told himself as he slowly followed. He wanted to give Carmen a chance to get far enough away that she wouldn't have to see him. Fuck. He really didn't like this job right now.

Jim pushed out the wood gate and closed it behind him. It was a horrible security breach, but that was the soldier in him; most people didn't think about things like that. They worried about how to bring manure in without leaving tire marks on the lawn. Jim sighed. He wished the Taylors didn't have anything better to worry about than tire treads. And he wished he had something to show for making a bunch of kids cry.

"Jim!" Blair nearly shouted the minute he spotted him. Blair stood next to the car, his hands caught mid-flutter.

"Blair," Jim said calmly as he walked toward the passenger side.

"Where were you?" Blair asked as he walked to the back of the car. Jim detoured just enough to get within arm's reach. He casually reached over and bopped Blair on the side of the head.

"Man, you are just too into hitting me! You are so totally showing a sadistic side." Blair danced away a step and rubbed the spot on his head.

"That would imply it actually hurt. Does it?" Jim asked as he stopped and studied Blair. His stomach tightened at the idea.

"That is not the point," Blair huffed as he turned toward the driver's side.

"That's exactly the point, Sandburg. I'm just reminding you that I don't need a keeper; you aren't some abused wife, although with that hair you could play the part."

"Very funny. And you are obviously missing the point here. I would have asked my mom's friend Jim that same question because we're working a case together."

"And your mom's friend Jim would have caught you upside the back of the head for that tone you used when you first saw me and called my name," Jim argued. "So, how'd it go with the father?" Jim asked even though he already had a good idea. He hadn't been able to see the man, so Blair might have spotted something he couldn't know from out here.

Blair got in the car, and Jim followed. Rather than start the car, Blair leaned back against the seat and stared at the car's roof.

"Nadasville. This case is just one frustration after another. Mr. Taylor said he went out there to get away from his family and the reporters and just be with his little girl's memory."

"You believed him?"

"No way. He went out there to poke his own guilt." Blair made a strange face and poked the steering wheel a couple of times to emphasize his point. God the kid was weird.

"But you don't think he's the killer."

"If he is, he's the best actor I've ever met. The absolute best. But I really don't think this is going anywhere." Blair rolled his head to the side and looked at Jim.

"I think you're right," Jim agreed. "I went in his backyard."

"Oh man. We are so far out on a limb here," Blair grimaced.

"You're out on a limb, Chief; I'm just a Sentinel," Jim said with a nasty smirk. Blair poked him in the stomach, and Jim reached out and pulled a curl.

"Nice, leave me hanging out to dry," Blair said, but he had enough laughter in his voice that Jim knew he wasn't serious. The hand Jim had used to pull Blair's hair ended up on Blair's thigh, and neither of them moved for a second. Jim could feel a familiar need twist around his spine, and he coughed and focused on the case.

"There were six children out back by the gardener's shed. I made them cry," Jim admitted and Blair flinched.

"Yeah, interviewing kids always sucks."

"They said that Mr. Taylor was gone a lot and that the Taylors didn't really know what to do with a kid. Apparently Mrs. Taylor wouldn't even let Kari take toys outside because they might get dirty."

"Nice," Blair said sarcastically.

"Yeah, but Kari would play with these Hispanic kids whose mom works in the house. Carmen, the oldest girl, insists that she would know if someone hurt Kari, and no one did."

"The M.E. said there wasn't any evidence of long-term abuse which is why I didn't press the father at first, but I'm getting desperate enough to clutch at straws."

"Here's one last straw to clutch at: the display at the cemetery was from the kids Kari played with. The littlest girl even left her bear because Mrs. Taylor wouldn't let Kari have toys outside and she wanted Kari to have someone to play with."

Blair took a deep breath. "I hate cases with kids. They just always break your fucking heart," Blair said weakly, and Jim tightened his hand on Blair's thigh.

"But that means we're out of leads."

"No way. I didn't know that Kari played out there. I investigated her pre-school and her dance class and her church, and now I have one more place to investigate. Their mom must be Luella Palma; she informally runs the house."

"Just watch out for rule number two: don't talk to cops," Jim offered. "And you may want to wait because her kids went to the corner store for ice cream after I made the five year old collapse into open sobs."

Blair flinched. "Ouch."

"Yeah. Gotta love this job. I think I preferred lying under a bush for two days to shoot some guy."

Blair stammered a bit at that.

"And I gave them a ten, so I'm going to need some money." Jim kept his voice neutral, but the irritation scraped over his nerves and he pulled his hand back.

"I know Walker set up a Sentinel account, but maybe we could open one in my name instead," Blair suggested. Jim raised his eyebrows in question. Why would he want all his money in Blair's name?

"In small towns where they don't have Sentinel accounts, guardians just open a second account, but then they have to fill out extra paperwork proving that they aren't using their Sentinel's money. But the advantage is that because it's a regular account, you could have an ATM card and pull your own money without my signature. I could set you up as a signer."

God. An ATM card. Jim never thought he would feel so damn grateful at the offer of something so damn trivial. Only, it wasn't trivial when he couldn't have one.

"But if we do that, you are so doing the extra paperwork," Blair threatened. "I have enough trouble with my own paperwork."

"Deal," Jim quickly agreed, and immediately he hated himself for being grateful. It was his money. He'd earned it, and he shouldn't have to be grateful for the right to spend it. And really, he still couldn't spend it however he wanted; the damn judge would get to look over his records and rule on whether he had a right to buy this or that. Jim resisted an urge to put his fist through something at the memory of her smug face.

"Okay, we have a new lead! We can come back tomorrow and chase it down." Blair smiled as he sat up and started the car. "Man, we are a seriously good partnership!" he announced as he pulled out onto the quiet street.

Partners. Not just a Sentinel, but a partner. More gratitude seeped up through the cracks, and Jim could feel it harden and turn to anger. He hadn't chosen this. Not wanting to let Sandburg die wasn't the same as choosing him as a life-long companion, and he shouldn't fucking have to feel grateful for every fucking crumb. He'd earned the money. He'd fucking earned the respect, even if precious few people showed it anymore. He'd earned his freedom, but he sure didn't have it.

"The problem is that I'm not your partner, Sandburg. I'm not a cop and if I were, I wouldn't partner with some part-time detective," Jim snapped.

Blair blinked, and Jim felt a little twinge of guilt at the suddenly blank expression on Blair's face. But calling what they had a partnership… Jim couldn't let himself get sucked any farther into this desire for Blair. He'd help Sandburg find Kincaid and get him out of the hole he'd dug for himself on the Taylor case, and then he was heading for Canada.

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "I thought you said you did want to work at the station. If there's something else you'd rather do…"

Jim snorted. "I'd rather be on base planning the next mission and training with my team."

"If you want to go back to the military…" Blair's voice was shaking now, but his hands were steady on the wheel as he turned toward the highway.

"I don't want to go back to the military as a Sentinel," Jim snapped. "You got all defensive when Rafe *didn't* say I was subbing for you. You should hear what they say in the military, and the Sentinels are on lockdown most of the time, but they get nice quarters and good duty and they don't know any better, so they're not going to complain. I want to go back into the military as a career officer." Jim slammed his palm down on the dash. "And I'm doing this with you because it's better than sitting home, but don't think that makes us partners in any sense of the word," Jim finished, crossing his arms.

Blair stared straight ahead at traffic, and Jim could smell the misery in the car. He rolled a window down just far enough that the car exhaust drowned Blair's smell and made his hair dance and tangle in the sudden breeze.

Jim's stomach knotted at the wall that suddenly rose between him and his companion, but he needed that wall. He needed that distance from something that was growing entirely too close and too comfortable.

"You don't have to stay," Blair finally whispered, his hands still frozen to the wheel and strands of his hair sticking to his lower lip that was damp from him chewing at it.

"When I decide to leave, I can do it without your help," Jim snapped. Blair tightened his lips and nodded. "I gave you my word that I'd help you get Kincaid, and I will," Jim said more gently, his stomach now knotted at the distress in his companion. He wanted to reach out and tug on his hair or rest a hand on his shoulder. Maybe he could trust Blair with some clues about where he was in Canada after he settled. Maybe Blair would want to come to him.

Jim turned away from Blair and closed his eyes as he pushed that fantasy away. The bond was one way. Given a choice, he would choose Blair… he would choose Blair over anything other than freedom. But Blair had his life here—his life, his friends, his school, his future. Ignoring the little voice that suggested that Jim could make a place for himself in that life, Jim focused on the memory of Sam waiting for him to ask for the chains.

He used his perfect sensory recall to remember the days sitting in empty classrooms with his soul dying as he strained against chains he knew he couldn't break. His wrists and ankles would sweat under the restraints and when Sam would take them off, the skin felt overly sensitive and damp. Fingering the place on his wrist where his arm hair thinned from the friction against the restraints, Jim tightened his hold over his heart. If Sandburg got hurt, that's exactly where Jim would end up again, and not even Blair was worth taking that risk.

When Blair took a deep, shuddering breath, Jim waited for the argument to continue, but Blair remained silent and Jim focused on the distant skyscrapers with the hard angles and edges in steel.

TWENTY SIX  
***  
Simon had the blinds open in his office. It meant that every time a detective came in the doors, he had a moment of distraction from the endless parade of reports and requests and requisitions he had to process, but he needed the distraction. If he'd had any idea what his life was going to be like as a captain, he might have turned down the promotion, but at the time, he thought it was the best way to really make a difference in this town and to save his marriage. Well, he'd accomplished one of his goals.

When Ellison came through the door, followed closely by Sandburg, Simon let his eyes settle on them for more than the second it took to notice them and go back to the vacation schedule. Blair hands were going, but then they always were. The difference now was that the wide, sweeping gestures had grown smaller, the customary pokes at the air more tentative.

Ellison looked better than he had in the hospital, but that just might have been the removal of the chains. Simon hated those things just about as much as he hated the way the man who killed his brother got to walk away without ever paying for what he did. Some things just weren't fair, no matter what the law said.

No more than two seconds after the partners entered, Brown came though the doors and headed straight for Sandburg, obviously making some smart-ass comment, and Banks watched Blair flare to life, his smile brightening as he pushed his hair back with one hand and gestured wildly with the other. Just looking at the kid through the glass, Simon never would peg him as a top-notch detective, but he was.

Brown laughed before he nodded to his partner and they headed out. The whole time, Rafe had hovered at the door, not actually coming in as he focused on Jim and Jim scowled back. Great, just what he needed, detectives who couldn't work with each other. Simon sighed as he focused on the computer again, his tired eyes complaining about the glare off the screen.

The knock on the door wasn't really a surprise. "This better be good," he bellowed. If nothing else, a little aggravation in his tone would make people get to the point quicker. With Sandburg, that was a survival skill he needed.

"Hey, Simon," Blair said as he stuck his head in. "Define good, so I know whether or not I'm good."

Shit. When the kid started playing word games, Simon knew they had trouble. "What did you do?" he asked as he pushed away from his computer and focused on Blair. The detective stepped into the office with a sheepish expression, and Ellison followed close on his heels. While Blair flopped into a chair, Ellison headed for the window where he leaned against the glass and looked out on the city. Sun from the window reflected off his collar and made a little white dash shimmer against the white wall.

"Hey, I totally did not do anything except my job, and I think we may have a new lead on the Taylor case, so that's good, right?"

Simon narrowed his eyes. Sandburg sailed in here on a fairly regular basis confessing to one transgression or another, but he'd never seen the man so unsure before.

"I guess that depends on how you got the lead. You leave any witnesses or bodies behind?" Simon asked suspiciously.

Jim's eyes snapped to Simon, and Simon just looked back at the challenge in them. Hell would freeze over before he'd back down in his own office. Jim blinked after a second and went back to staring out the window. Blair shifted nervously in his seat. Oh yeah, this partnership was going great.

"Jim and I headed out to the cemetery where her body was discovered, and we found some interesting visitors had been by. And man, you should see Jim in action; it's absolutely incredible the way he…"

Blair stopped mid-rant, his hands falling to his lap, and Ellison just continued to stare out the window. Simon closed his eyes and counted to five to keep himself from exploding.

"Okay, out with the disaster part of this, because I can hear a disaster coming," Simon said carefully.

"A reporter spotted me working the case," Ellison interrupted before Blair could say anything.

"Great," Simon said sarcastically, missing the days when he was a detective and he could use the colorful language that rolled through his head. "Your first day back, Sandburg. You couldn't even give me twenty-four hours before you started making tsunamis?" he asked, referencing their old joke to Blair's inability to just make waves like everyone else.

"Oh man, we were just working the scene, but that footage…"

"So, you were playing loose with the regs."

"Hey, I have a legitimate interpretation of the regulations that is probably just not the standard one, so I didn't break regulations as much as I broke procedure," Blair obfuscated. Simon had learned that word early in Sandburg's time in Major Crimes. Now he had really warmed to the subject, and he brought his hands up in that 'I know I'm right and you know that I know that I'm right' gesture. On anyone else, it would have looked like a karate chop, but Blair made it look much more academic and significant.

"The regulations say that no Sentinel can participate in the interrogation or pursuit of a suspected pedophile. However, we were not actively pursuing a pedophile, and we totally had no reason to think a pedophile would be there, so this was more a standard search of an area than a pursuit of a pedophile, and Sentinels are always used for area searches," Blair defended himself, but Simon really focused more on the way Jim's back went stiff. The guy was mad, and Simon didn't need this. Why the hell hadn't he just said 'no' to having a Sentinel in his division?

Blair just kept right on arguing even though Simon hadn't disagreed with him yet. "So, since we weren't pursuing a pedophile, just checking out a scene, that's like total greyland there. And we found that her father had been out to the site, and we also found out that Kari spent a lot of time with the housekeeper's kids, at least we think they're the housekeeper's kids, but the point is that there's a whole part of her life I haven't even looked at."

Simon sighed and pulled off his glasses. "Please tell me you did not confront Sam Taylor."

"It's cool. I mean, he's taking the guilt trip train all the way to China, but I really don't think he had anything to do with her death. A man doesn't just wake up one day and decide to rape and kill his daughter without doing something before that, and the coroner said she didn't have any old marks and bruising, and when I asked him why he was at the scene of her death, Taylor didn't even twitch. I don't think he's our best suspect."

"So, you accused him of being involved before deciding he wasn't?! Blair, you're going to commit career suicide one of these days," Simon accused the man, slamming his palm down on the desk. Jim took a step closer, and Simon included him in the glare. "Maybe Brown should take this one."

Simon flinched at his own words as he really considered that. Brown was one of the best investigators in the department, and like Blair, he had a unique way of looking at the facts in a case. But he handled stress with humor, occasionally inappropriate humor and a lack of interpersonal skills that made families uncomfortable, and this was not a case where the department could afford bad feelings. Then again, Rafe really was smoothing over some of his partner's rough edges, so maybe it was time to let that partnership give this a try.

"Blair found the lead," Jim said as he took one more step closer so that he stood beside Sandburg. Simon glared up.

"And he did it breaking the rules."

"No way, man. I was not breaking the rules, just bending the traditional understanding of the rules, and I am so sorry that Wendy caught me mid-bend."

"Wendy Hawthorne?" Simon just about choked as he sat up and once again wished he could curse like he had back during his detective days when he didn't have to worry about hostile work environments and sensitivity training and all that other shit the commissioner was always pushing.

"Oh, yeah. I guess I left that part out," Blair blushed.

"Yeah, you did." Simon reached for a cigar and just fingered it as he tried to figure out how to manage this disaster.

"She's giving us two days to provide more interesting footage before she pulls out the tape of us at the cemetery, so all is not lost, Simon. We just need to break the case and let her get a little good footage so she has a reason to lose the other stuff."

Simon stared at Blair, his mouth open.

"Two days. Two days?!"

"We just have to work the leads," Jim interrupted, his hand coming down to rest on Blair's shoulder for a second before he jerked it away. Simon narrowed his eyes as he took in one more sign that things were seriously screwed up. Summers back in Georgia with his grandmother, he'd seen the Sentinel pairing who lived in that small, southern town with it's two and three room houses and wide porches. They'd rarely stopped touching, and in the hospital, Jim and Blair had been just as tactile as his memory of that partnership.

Once his head had cleared, Blair would type on his computer, and Jim's hand would rest on a hip or Blair's foot would snake out from under the blanket and his toes would prod Jim's thigh. Now, Jim physically backed away a step, and Blair very deliberately didn't look over.

"I don't know what the hell is going on—"

"Hey, just me with my usual total disdain for rules, and I promise I'll fix this, Simon, just give me a chance. I don’t think today would be a good day to go back and talk to the housekeeper's kids…" Blair's eyes flicked toward Jim, and Simon glowered at the tall man. "But first thing tomorrow, I'm going to be out there, promise. We just need to get Wendy her lead story, and then she'll be happy to bury the footage with Jim."

"And you don't work any more pedophilia cases," Simon said, poking his unlit cigar toward Blair, which brought Jim back to his partner's side. Simon rolled his eyes.

"Right, right, no problem," Blair agreed quickly, his hands held up in surrender.

"Rick hates me. He was always jealous that I got Major Crimes, that's why he gave you to me," Simon complained softly.

"Actually," Blair disagreed, "he said that considering how many rules you broke in your day, you deserved me."

"I probably do," Simon sighed. "But unless you want to end up suspended, you play by the rules. Do I need to remind you that Aldo is still sniffing around just looking for a reason to hang you out to dry?"

"No, no, I got it. Play by the rules, no more Sandburg zone," Blair quickly agreed.

"Why won't Aldo let this go?" Jim asked, his eyes now scanning the bull pen as though looking for the Internal Affairs officer to come bursting through any second.

"Other than Blair making him and basically his whole department look like morons by busting a dirty cop in their department? Oh, nothing."

"Oh man, I am squeaky clean, Simon. I promise."

"So, Jim is going to stay behind when you follow up on the Taylor case tomorrow?" Simon asked, crossing his arms. That made two pairs of sharp blue eyes focus on him.

A lesser man might have squirmed under the matched glares, but Simon didn't back off. He'd been one of the only black kids in his school during the year, and if that wasn't enough to toughen him up, he'd spent summers with Grandma Banks. The woman had a nasty habit of speaking the truth and a stare that would take the paint off house. Old man Winters next door used to say that if he wanted to avoid having to strip the old paint off the house, he just had to annoy Widow Banks into glaring at it. It took more than a couple of nasty looks to unsettle Simon.

"He can just wait in the car," Blair shrugged as if it didn't make a difference to him.

"Where he can listen and give Wendy Hawthorne some nice follow up footage? No chance. Jim can just stay at the station. Let him go through your old case files or something."

"Simon, come on. This isn't my only case, and I don't want to have to double back to have to pick up my partner."

"It seems like I reassigned most of your active cases. Hell, I would have reassigned the Taylor case if the Special Crimes unit wasn't working leads from their end. I assume that you've told them what you found."

"I'll give Leah the notes," Blair waved the concern off, "but I have the Dessy case, too."

"Tomas Dessy? Why pull that old case up?"

"His horoscope," Blair said. "Hold on a second."

Blair got up and just about raced out of the office, detouring around Ricardo and a cuffed suspect before he grabbed the morning paper from his desk and then reversed direction.

"And that's Blair not on caffeine," Simon said sadly.

"I'll remember to keep him away from the coffeepot," Jim half-laughed as Blair returned with a newspaper held high.

"His horoscope… Check it out."

Simon adjusted his glasses. "Which one?"

"Libra"

"Today’s planetary line-up is likely to make things seem like they're sliding off track, but take a second look. You’ll find that progress is being made if you just keep track of where you have your assets. Keep a piece of amethyst with you to help generate an optimistic approach." Simon looked up. "This is…"

"Drivel?" Blair finished for him. "Totally, man. I mean, these things. They're written so they could apply to anyone. Anyone. It's always a good bet that things will go better if you keep track of your assets, but the point here is Dessy. I'm willing to stake a month's salary that he believes in this stuff." Blair thumped the paper with his fingers.

"Why do you say that, Chief?" Jim asked as he came up beside Blair and looked down at the paper.

"It fits. The horoscope says that it's a good day to stay in, and Dessy cancelled meetings with the DeLuca family. The horoscope says that it's a good day to meet new people, and he made that deal with Bruce Jackson to run drugs down in South town."

"So, why not use the horoscope predictions to get someone in undercover?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, we never thought of an undercover officer," Simon snorted, but the suddenly cold expression on Jim's face made guilt wash through him. Jim had enough people doubting his abilities right now. Simon took the cigar out and scrubbed his face for a second.

"Dessy is good. Every officer we've tried to get in there has been ID'ed in days and sent packing. We had one woman who worked the streets, picking up undercover cops as johns for three months before we tried to work her into his organization. Delia is the best we have. After she finally gets a meet with him, he asked her how it was going through police academy with her fine ass and whether the other cops wanted to do her as much as he did. He even told her that he'd almost suspend his rule about not sleeping with cops if she'd offer him a tumble."

"Man, he is like seriously lucky or seriously connected," Blair said softly.

"I wish it was just luck." Simon leaned back in his chair. "Organized Crime has the best shot at this. They're an insulated enough unit that if there's a leak, they can contain it. Why work this now?"

"Because I have Jim now. Man, Dessy is going to be all over checking his businesses because of this horoscope, but it's nearly noon, so he's going to be getting up soon, and we have to get over there."

"Chief, I don't know that I can do all that much," Jim said slowly.

For the first time since they came in the office, Blair really looked at Jim. For a second, he smiled, but then that faded, and his fingers started working the edge of his tribal vest. "You can, Jim. Your records, your test scores… they're higher than anything I've ever seen."

"But Dessy has to know we have a Sentinel warrant out for his surveillance." Simon shook his head; the kid couldn't expect Jim to be some sort of superhero.

"But he doesn't expect someone with Jim's control or range. Man, this is our best chance to nail Dessy."

Simon sighed as he considered the kid. Blair caught most of their interdepartmental cases because he wasn't a credit hog or some alpha dog who would get in a pissing match with the lead detective from some other precinct, but the guys working Dessy might not want Sandburg in there poking around right now.

"I'll call the captain over at OC," Simon finally relented.

"Thanks, man. I'm going to dash off a quick report for Leah on the Taylor case, and then Jim and I are heading over to Dessy's place to see if we can tail him."

"I didn't give you permission yet. Organized Crimes might not want you over there," Simon warned.

"Come on, Simon. I know you'll smooth things over. You always do," Blair said with a smile and a wink before he headed out the door.

"Jim," Simon called as the largely silent Sentinel turned to follow. He stopped in the doorway, and Simon sighed, suddenly unsure of what to say that could make this any easier on anyone. Just because Blair and Jim obviously hadn't found any sort of peace in the relationship didn't mean Simon had any right to get in the middle.

"Look after him. He gets so enthusiastic that he doesn't look after himself," Simon finally settled on. Jim looked at him, a frown making his eyebrow twitch for a second before he nodded.

"Sure," he agreed. He headed out into the bullpen. Jim went straight for Blair's desk, leaning over it so that he was hovering over Blair before he turned and suddenly moved away to his own desk, sitting and leaning back away from Sandburg. Blair froze for a second, and then turned to the computer, scooting his chair as close to the keyboard as he could, which moved him away from Jim. They worked, almost straining away from each other for several minutes before Jim leaned forward, rolling his chair a couple of inches closer as he said something. Blair turned and rolled his own chair back from the computer so their arms hovered near each other. Then Blair suddenly bolted up and headed out the doors.

Simon sighed as he watched them, their dance taking them always closer until they veered away from each other suddenly, like magnets that kept turning so they first attracted and then repelled each other with equal force. Oh yeah, this was not good. Simon pulled his cigar out of his mouth and set it to the side as he returned to trying to figure out the vacation schedule. At least that was one puzzle he had an outside chance of solving.

TWENTY SEVEN  
***  
"Playing a bit fast with the truth there," Jim commented once they'd reached their desks. For a half second, Blair froze.

"What?" Blair asked, but his voice was a little too innocent. Jim crossed his arms and leaned back as he considered the wide blue eyes blinking back at him. The little shit had the look down, alright.

"Why exactly are we going after Dessy?" Jim kept his voice neutral, but Blair turned his back and pushed his chair as close to the computer as possible, physically withdrawing from the question.

"It's a legitimate case," Blair shrugged.

"And why go after him and not…" Jim leaned forward and scanned the tabs on the files still stacked on Blair's desk. "Why not the Carson case?" Jim reached over and grabbed the top few files and started loading them into his bottom desk drawer.

Blair flicked him a glance and then shrugged again. "Carson's wife is in total denial. Total. One hundred percent eclipse of the common sense. I might give her another try after some local station airs 'The Burning Bed' or some special on Scott Peterson beating his wife to death. But trust me, right now, that woman is going to lie to protect that son of a bitch, and Ben Carson is too damn clever to leave much else in the way of a trail. I just hope Mrs. Carson figures out that she's in danger before Mr. Carson figures out that no one will take that much abuse forever."

Blair stopped typing and turned his chair around as he stared at the pile of files as though he had committed some unforgivable sin. "I can't even get her to answer the door for me." The shift put Blair a few inches closer, and Jim could feel himself itch with a need to just reach out. Despite all Jim's anger, all his frustration, and all his pent-up indignation, he just wanted to take that guilty, pained expression off Blair's face. He wanted to let his hand rest on Blair's arm and feel the heat of it. He wanted to assure Blair that it wasn't his fault that some woman was too afraid to speak up. He crushed those feelings. Shit. Unless he wanted to play happy little slave to Blair's master, he couldn't let himself get so lost in his instincts, and if Blair fucked up with his boss, Jim had no idea where that would leave him.

"Why Dessy?" Jim repeated, focusing on the lie and not the warm scent of Blair.

Blair sighed. "Look, I went through the whole horoscope thing once. If you didn't get it, I'm not going over it again." Blair shook his head as if he were throwing off the guilt that had been clinging to him. Now he rolled his eyes at Jim like he'd said something particularly stupid.

Jim pursed his lips. "What percentage of this new-found enthusiasm for the Dessy case actually comes from the horoscope?" Jim leaned forward and stared at Blair, daring him to lie. "And what percentage of this is the fact that Kincaid mentioned his name?"

Blair huffed and leaned back away from Jim. "Oh, man. You are just like a dog with a bone. Fine! The horoscope is like ten percent and the thought that Dessy might be having meetings with Kincaid is like a good 90 percent. Happy? But that doesn't mean that I’m doing anything wrong." Blair looked furious, and Jim could feel his own aggravation rise up. How many times had he seen some stupid, young recruit pull the same damn shit? The kid was ready to go off half-cocked to get some sort of revenge, and half-cocked was not ever a safe place to be. Blair swung around to face his computer again. Jim had a nice view of the man's back.

"It's called a lie of omission," Jim said calmly, despite all his frustration. After all, he couldn't exactly order Blair to drop and give him fifty. He could go to Simon himself, but if Blair were emotionally unstable, that put Jim in a strange place… a place that just might lead to a little cell and some broken bond madness. Jim leaned back. He should want that. He should want a way to get the bond broken. He glanced over towards Simon's office. Blair's lies would be a good excuse; it wouldn't look like Jim was trying to manipulate the system and he wouldn't get put in some permanent institution as a problem case.

"Simon doesn't need me making his life difficult, and yeah, I might get a write-up, but what he doesn't know, he can't get blamed for," Blair answered, his voice thick with denial.

"You are a piece of work, Sandburg."

"Whatever," Blair dismissed him, not even turning around or interrupting his rapid-fire typing, and Jim felt an almost overwhelming urge to pop the kid upside the head, but the desire was just a little too strong. He wanted to hit the kid a little too much, so he kept his fingers curled around the arms of his chair.

"He's your boss, but if I ever had a soldier under me pull this shit…"

"Exactly," Blair snapped as he swung around again. "Simon's *my* boss."

"You don't need to remind me of that." Jim gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to feel the finger muscles complain.

"Records still has the paperwork on the Sentinel warrant and I just shot a report on the Taylor case over to Leah in Special Crimes, so let's go see if we can catch Dessy doing something stupid," Blair said as he got up and headed toward the door. For a half second, Jim considered refusing. He considered telling Blair that he wasn't going to let him go off half-cocked without telling his commanding officer what he was doing, especially when Blair was too emotionally involved in the case. He considered all that, but the fact was, Simon wasn't his boss and this wasn't his case and he wasn't Blair's partner. He was the Sentinel.

With his jaw locked tight, Jim got up and followed his guardian out the door.

"Welcome to drug central," Blair said as he rolled the car to a stop in the parking lot of a run down movie theater showing "Cheating Housewives 2" and that old classic "Debbie Does Dallas." A couple of kids were sitting on the sidewalk, at least Jim would call them kids if they'd been wearing high school letter jackets or something. Instead, they had stringy hair and dirty, torn clothes as they leaned against each other and shared a cigarette. They just looked old.

"Nice neighborhood," Jim said. He pulled the collar of his shirt up to try and hide the silver around his neck.

"Yeah, no joke. This is drug central where Dessy is king and the street kids are thick. Dessy works out of the back of that restaurant." Blair glanced in the rear view mirror, and Jim adjusted the side mirror on his side so that he could see the burger place. "Man, I hate this part of town," Blair complained as he pulled down the red ball cap he'd put on. His hair was tucked up under it, so he looked very unBlairlike. "So, can you hear anything?"

"From here?" Jim asked incredulously as he watched building in the mirror.

"Yeah," Blair quickly agreed. "Come on, man. You barely even asked me what happened with Mr. Taylor, and you sure didn't question my decision to believe him. That means that you either heard every word or you're like the most laid back man in creation. I think we both know the second sure isn't true, so your official range is not even close to your actual range."

Fuck. The kid was just a little too sharp, and Jim cursed himself for his own carelessness. So much for keeping his advantages to himself. He sighed. "So you expect me to just listen in on Dessy?" Jim looked over at Blair.

"Well, yeah."

"Doesn't work that way, Chief. I can't see in there. I don't have any sounds to follow. How do you suggest I find a focus?" Jim watched while Blair's enthusiasm slowly turned to chagrin.

"Okay, I knew that. In the class, they talked about a Sentinel using the guardian as a focus. So, you were following me into the Taylor house with your hearing?"

"Yeah, I followed you in," Jim agreed.

"No problem, I'll just go in there," Blair announced brightly as he pushed his door open. Jim reached out to grab him back, but he moved just a little too slow because Blair darted out of his reach.

Jim got out on his side and hurried to the open trunk where Blair was pulling out an old, torn coat with one sleeve that trailed threads as the seam threatened to fall apart.

"You aren't going anywhere near there," he hissed.

"Chill out. He won't even recognize me." Blair gave Jim a little wink as he buttoned the old coat so that Blair now looked like an out of work sports fan with his Cardinals cap pulled down tight.

"And if he does? You're not going in there."

"Oh man, you are not my father. I mean, Naomi may have started young, but you would have been about seven, and just no way. If I get in any trouble, you can just call for backup. Besides, even if he does recognize me, he's probably just going to throw me out on my ass, so there's nothing to worry about." Blair pulled up the collar of the coat as though trying to keep out the chill.

"Call for backup?" Jim asked incredulously. Blair looked up at him and smiled.

"Sure. I mean, a Sentinel might go charging in like a bull seeing red, but my mom's friend Jim would have the sense to call for backup before doing something really stupid, right?" Blair voice had an edge of something ugly to it, and Jim studied his face, trying to decide what Blair was hiding.

"You aren't going," Jim said, as he reached out and grabbed Blair's arm in a tight hold. Blair went still before a shiver traveled through his muscles. For a second, Blair stood staring at the open trunk of the car.

"This is my job. So either let me go and let me slip into a booth where I can order a burger without anyone looking twice, or we're going to have a scene right here, and then I'm still going in there," Blair said quietly, his voice flat of all emotion. Jim narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip.

"This isn't your job. Kincaid is someone else's job. I don't think you should go in there because you are too emotionally involved in this whole case," Jim explained logically.

Blair snorted. "Emotions. I know how to control them just as well as you do, Ellison. This *is* my job, so get your hand off me or we're going to have a fight right here, right now, with all these street kids watching. I'm sure at least one of them will run straight to Dessy and tell him that some bum is fighting with a Sentinel, and I *will* still walk in that burger place even if it's just to piss you off."

"You wouldn't."

Blair looked up with angry eyes, and Jim realized the little shit really would. Fuck. When they got back to the station, he was hauling the kid into Simon's office or the shrink's office or somewhere—even if it meant that he got shoved back in the Institute while the kid got his head screwed back on straight. Jim slowly let go of Blair's arm.

"Keep your head down," Jim growled as he stalked away and got back in the car and slammed the door.

"Sir, yes sir," Blair mocked him quietly as he slammed the trunk closed, but Jim still heard.

Slumping down in the seat, Jim watched in the rear view mirror as Blair crossed the street and headed for the brick building with the garishly painted front window that kept Jim from seeing inside. Shakes $1.99. Big Guy Meal $4.49. Jim followed the stroke marks in the paint just to try and calm the anger and fear that raged through his system. Blair's mom's friend Jim wouldn't be feeling this near overwhelming urge to go in there and stand between Blair and the criminals, so Jim tried his best to live up to Blair's expectation.

Jim eyed the police radio as he listened to Blair order a cheese burger and fries. With Blair in there, Jim could now let his hearing roam the inside of the building, locating the walls from the faint echoes as he closed his eyes and mentally mapped the space. His time in the Institute had at least taught him ways to use his senses that bordered on the amazing. Jim heard the dull sounds of voices hitting drywall and the faint reverberation of sounds echoing off glass and the sharp ricochet of sound waves off metal. From the various sounds, he got a good idea of where the kitchen was.

A woman was complaining about her husband near Blair. A man was eating with his mouth open, the sloppy wet sounds falling from his mouth. Jim let his hearing drift farther from the island of focus Blair provided.

"…on the cookie sales this week," a man's voice said, and if someone had said that in the middle of a park with his girls dressed in Girl Scout outfits, the comment might have gone unnoticed, but somehow Jim didn't think there would be many Girl Scout parents in this neighborhood.

"Will do," another man's voice answered. Jim slid farther down in the seat and closed his eyes.

"How about Southside?"

"It's all good. What's with the sudden curiosity?" voice two asked.

"It's my business. I just need to make sure I know what's going on in it," said a man with a lightly nasal voice with just a light hint of Spanish accent softening his consonants. Dessy.

"Those cookies are selling down to 6th now. Five new kids around, but you know how they come and go. Three up and vanished."

"Anyone important?"

"Nope."

"Hey," a new voice interrupted, deeper than the other two and without the hint of Spanish accent Jim could hear in the others.

"Que?"

"Something's up," the new voice said, and the others fell silent. Jim slid a little farther down in the seat so that he could only see the burger shop in the very edge of the mirror. Fuck.

The door swung open, little bells tied to the pushbar tinkled, and a large black man with dark sunglasses stood in the open door scanning the street. Jim froze, not even breathing as he watched the man's eyes slowly slide over every inch of the street. Too slowly. He stepped out into the sun, and Jim could see his dark skin pimple in the cold.

He searched the street, but his eyes didn't even pause on the old car Blair had checked out of the carpool. With the red tape over one broken taillight and a crumpled fender, the thing fit in this neighborhood.

The man stepped back into the burger place and let the door fall closed. Jim listened as he passed entirely too close to Blair on his way back to the others. Jim reached out and pulled the radio from the cradle, holding the plastic in his hand as it slowly warmed with body heat.

"Problem?" the man who was probably Dessy asked.

"Table four. It's that long-haired cop."

Silence. Jim debated about calling for backup, but Blair wasn't in trouble. They might just kick him out. Jim had an even more strenuous debate about charging in there and yanking Blair out by his long hair.

"Chingalo! That cabron just won't give up. He have backup?"

"Nope," the black guy answered. Jim brought the radio up.

"This is Jim Ellison, Sentinel assigned to Detective Blair Sandburg. We need backup outside José's Burgers and Tacos on Slate Road."

Voices continued inside the burger place. "He just won't give up. But maybe this really is an opportunity to make something good out of a situation that seems to be sliding off track." Jim didn't like that tone of voice.

"Are you an authorized officer?" the dispatcher asked over the radio after a moment of static-laced silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" guy number two asked.

"I'm Sandburg's Sentinel," Jim snapped into the radio, and of course that meant he wasn't authorized to use the police radio. "He's in trouble, and I'm calling for help. Get someone over here now!" Jim dropped the radio and headed across the street in a fast trot. If he charged in there, they'd just both get killed, so Jim needed another plan. A brilliant plan. Something good enough for him to short-circuit the instinct to charge into the place and just start breaking bones, although a 911 call or two from panicked diners might make the backup hurry.

"He's a loose cannon. If he's over here without even backup, what do you want to bet that no one knows he's playing Lone Ranger?"

"Dessy, this is crazy."

"Just get outside and make sure he doesn't have backup."

Jim darted toward the alley. Where the fuck was the backup? Jim gritted his teeth at the thought that it just might not be coming or maybe the operator was playing the call for her supervisor, trying to decide what to do with a Sentinel using the radio. After all, if Sandburg were in any real danger, a true Sentinel would just go charging in like a blind bull.

Okay, charge into the diner, and grab Blair. Advantages, the bystanders might mean that Dessy wouldn't fire. Disadvantages, if the bystanders bothered Dessy that much, he probably wouldn't consider taking Blair on in the first place. Option two, slip into the diner and try to quietly slip Blair a message or lure him out. Advantage, no chance of bystanders getting killed. Disadvantage, Dessy might still kill both of them, and as stubborn as Blair could be when he got a bug up his butt, the man might just refuse to go. Option three, head back to the car and curse out dispatch, which would do exactly nothing. Jim listened as the black man came out of the diner and actually started walking down the street away from the alley.

Okay, option four, give them something more interesting than Blair to worry about. Jim eyed the back of the buildings. He had the burger place on one side and a check-cashing joint on the other.

Plan made, Jim hurried back toward the car, trying to look unconcerned while still covering ground with wide loping strides. Yanking open the driver's door, Jim popped the trunk and then sat in the car and pulled open the glove box. Gloves. Good, he pulled them on. The radio was silent, so either the dispatcher was ignoring the call, or she'd tried to contact Blair and had given up. He ignored it, not expecting much help on that front.

In the trunk, Jim found pliers and a crowbar, both of which he tucked into his jacket before slamming the lid back down. Jim headed for the back of the check cashing place and scanned the area. Sensors on the windows, but they were the kind that would go off if the window sash was lifted. Two employees, both up front. Dessy's goon was coming back now, checking this side of the diner, and he was close to the end of the alley. Jim shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around the crowbar before he punched through the safety glass.

The shattering window screamed in his hearing, but Jim could still hear the two employees chatting at the front of the store, so he pulled his knife out of his pocket and started working at the wire cage that now protected the open space. Dessy's goon turned and headed back into the burger shop at a good speed, and Jim hurried, pulling one side of the wire free with the pliers as the goon reported in to Dessy. Oh yeah, most people wouldn't have heard the breaking glass from the street, even if it had exploded in Jim's Sentinel hearing.

A number of men, three or four, all headed for the back, and Jim hurried, yanking at the wire until it pulled free of the old wood with a dull shriek, and then he used the curved end of the crowbar to knock the shards of glass off the bottom of the window before he draped his jacket over the bottom to protect his hands and stomach from any remaining slivers.

The back door of the diner came open, and Jim just about dived into the window. Okay, Sandburg, the guys are gone, and now would be a really great time to head back for the car, Jim thought to himself as he listened to Blair order the pie.

In the back room, Jim looked around the dim space. A copier sat quietly humming in one corner, and an ancient vending machine stood against the far wall. In the center, a table looked older than Jim, and the metal chairs surrounding it had worn streaks of silver showing through the brown coating. He stepped to the side to avoid being seen from the mangled window. Okay, so now he had Dessy and his guys out of the burger place. If he just walked out into the front, they'd call the police, but Jim wasn't sure that would keep Dessy busy.

"He's in there," Dessy's goon whispered softly enough that Jim wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been a Sentinel. Of course, Dessy's goon wouldn't have known Jim was inside if he hadn't been a Sentinel, and no wonder the cops couldn't get anyone inside Dessy's operation.

"Doing what?"

"Just standing there."

Okay, that was obviously strange enough to keep them in the alley, but Jim had to do something to keep them interested. Knowing that a Sentinel was listening to every sound, Jim focused on controlling his heart beat as he approached the storeroom door and cracked it open. He didn't need the open door to hear the employees, but a non-Sentinel would. Jim needed to play this one a little smarter than he had with Sandburg.

"He's got the door open listening," the goon reported.

"Ballsy son of a bitch, isn't he?" Dessy answered. "Broad fucking daylight."

"Too ballsy. Let's get out of here," the other man added his two cents.

"No way, amigo. This is interesting."

"There's such a thing as too interesting."

"Not today, there isn't," Dessy countered, and Jim slid out into the hallway. He could hear the front door chime as a customer walked in, and Jim hurried down the hall. The first door was open, a bathroom. The second door opened easily, but it only led to a storeroom. Jim closed it as he headed for the third door. Locked. This was the office.

Jim could hear one employee typing in personal information; the second employee was making the sort of repetitive keystrokes Jim associated with an on-line video game. Backtracking, Jim slipped into the storeroom and pulled out a couple of paperclips which he bent open.

Okay, this was going to be hard. Jim sank to his knees in front of the office door and slid the ends into the lock and used his sensitive fingers to feel for the tumblers. He loved the irony of the FBI teaching him this little skill. No doubt they expected him to use it to infiltrate criminal strongholds and not to rob a check place, but Jim found that his morals were getting more flexible as he got older. Given a choice between robbing a check place to provide a little quiet distraction or letting his companion get kidnapped and killed while a police dispatcher debated policy… Jim was oddly fine with robbing the check place.

"He's picking the office lock," the goon outside said.

"Fuck. He's either one desperate cabron or one seriously good thief," Dessy said, his admiration clear. Jim could hear Blair's fork click against the china, and he whispered a curse to himself.

"Not that good. He's cursing at the lock," Dessy's Sentinel pointed out.

Jim felt the first tumbler slide into place and he concentrated on the lock and not the running report outside the broken window. Okay, if he just pretended to get stuck on the lock, he could head back. But Dessy would take one look at his collar and the jig would be well and truly up.

Jim's fingers worked the lock before he'd even manage to think through all the moves in this dangerous game of chess. The office door swung open, and Jim found himself in a room with furniture that had escaped the seventies.

"Okay, safe, safe, where would I hide a safe?" Jim muttered instead of muttering the string of curses he wanted to when he heard Blair order another cup of coffee. Yep, Jim was going to strangle either his companion or the police dispatcher. Maybe both. The Sentinel kept up a running description of Jim's actions.

"He broke in without knowing where the safe is?" the third guy demanded incredulously. "He's an idiot."

"These places have such limited imaginations. My money is on our young friend. I think he'll find the money and get out."

"Dessy, you're too much of an optimist. Besides, we have business inside."

Jim tightened his jaw at the mention of business, especially since Blair was still inside, now sweet-talking the waitress. Jim really was going to strangle him.

"Business can wait until this is resolved."

"Business may not choose to wait."

"In which case, business can go elsewhere, but this is infinitely more interesting," Dessy finished the conversation, doing something so that the other man's objection was cut off mid-word.

"What's he doing now?" Dessy asked.

"Just standing there," the Sentinel reported, and Jim cringed. Yeah, standing there listening to the debate about whether to go back and kill Sandburg, but Jim couldn't move right away, not unless he wanted to give away the fact that he had heard that.

"Something he hears, perhaps?"

"I can't hear anything, but you guys sometimes think you hear things that aren't there," the Sentinel agreed.

"Maybe losing his nerve," the objector added. "This is stupid," the man nearly whispered, but standing next to him, Dessy had to have heard.

Jim slowly started moving again, walking the perimeter of the room slowly, dragging his fingers over the walls to find the place where a temperature change gave away the presence of a chunk of steel. Almost immediately, he pulled his fingers back from the wall and silently cursed himself as he instead headed for the nearest painting and pulled at it. It didn't move. Jim felt along the frame and could tell it was simply bolted to the wall. He moved to the next painting and again, it didn't move. This one, though, had a small clasp on the side. Jim pressed it and the painting slid to the side revealing the safe.

"Bingo," Jim breathed.

"He's got it," the Sentinel outside reported.

"He's as entertaining as a good soccer match." Dessy slapped someone on the back. Jim focused on the sound of Blair pulling bills out of his wallet. About fucking time. "If he gets out without setting off the alarm, I'm giving him a job," Dessy announced. Jim paused, his gloved fingers on the combination lock.

Blair might be going about this wrong, but Jim had to agree on the need to take down both Dessy and Kincaid. Sure, other slime might ooze into the void they left, but in the mean time, how many kids wouldn't get hooked on drugs or how many might get help when their dealer disappeared or how many Sentinels would avoid Kincaid's slave auctions?

Jim closed his eyes and remembered the night he'd spent outside Kincaid's warehouse. He'd heard Blair's cries slowly fade to whimpers as the beatings continued past his vocal cords' ability to make sound. He'd also heard the men and women below, crying, sobbing, begging for an explanation, for a blanket, for a chance to call a loved one. All those Sentinels were in the Institute now, and as much as Jim hated that place, he had to admit they would get all of those things. However, how many other men and women had Kincaid sold to finance his army? And if Blair was right… if Dessy was the crack they needed to get information on Kincaid…

Jim altered the plan as he now worked as quickly as possible. The biggest obstacle would be convincing them he wasn't a Sentinel despite the collar. The safe yielded easily to him, his fingertips telling him when the tumblers slipped into place even through the gloves. Reaching in, Jim pulled out the cash and tucked it into his jacket pockets.

Moving slowly, Jim crept out of the office and slowly worked his way back to the break room with the broken window, using the time to turn down all his senses, to lower the levels until the constant awareness of Blair's presence vanished, leaving Jim just an aggravating silence that he had to force himself to endure.

Dessy and his men vanished from awareness as well, their heartbeats muffled as Jim lowered his hearing levels until even the employees out front were little more than a low buzz and he couldn't make out the words.

Ignoring the danger, Jim pulled the break room door closed and headed for the window. Okay, this was either a great idea or a horrible one, but it was too late to reconsider now. Jim stuck his head out the window and gave a cursory glance before sliding out over his coat, which was still draped over the sill. With his senses turned low, he couldn't even guess where Dessy and his men had gone, and he could only hope that his half-wit companion had finally headed back out to the car.


	3. Part Three

TWENTY EIGHT  
***  
Forcing himself to keep the dials low, Jim carefully slipped out the window. He had just cleared his second leg and was still facing the building when he felt the cold steel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck.

"Neat little operation," Dessy said, his voice amused, and Jim allowed his heart to pound… encouraged it with a little fast breathing, in fact.

"The money's in my front jacket pockets, just take it," Jim offered without turning around.

"How much you get?"

"I didn't stop to count," Jim grunted as the gun barrel against the back of his skull forced his head closer to the open window. He could hear it click against his Sentinel collar.

"He's a fucking sub on a leash," the other Sentinel growled, and Jim felt the back of his shirt yanked down so sharply that it choked him in front.

"I'm no fucking sub, or else I would have known you were here and kicked your ass," Jim snapped.

"What's with the collar?" A hand grabbed Jim's arm and wrenched him around so that he landed with his back to the wall next to the window, and now the Sentinel had a gun pressed to Jim's stomach. Jim held his hands out from his body and tried to look dutifully cowed. The Sentinel narrowed his eyes, and Jim quickly catalogued his features: six-three, tightly curled short hair, dark skin, white scar wandering from his left cheek to his jaw, acne scars, heavy build. Once he knew he'd recognize the man anywhere, he turned his attention to the real threat, Dessy.

"Marks see a collar, and they either don't see me, or they assume I'm Polyanna just trying to save the world. They don't connect the friendly Sentinel to the place getting robbed." Jim listened to his own heart, and carefully controlled each beat. Fast, yes, but no faster than before and just the steady pound of muscle moving blood.

Dessy looked at his Sentinel for confirmation that Jim was telling the truth, and the large man nodded back. Dessy smiled.

"Thief with a brain, and a little ingenuity. You got stones, big man." Jim could really study Dessy now. He looked more like a janitor than a drug lord. He had a receding hairline and unruly wisps of thin curls stuck out over his ears and he had a round face with the beginnings of jowls just starting to hang at his jaw. But his dark eyes studied Jim with a cold efficiency that made Jim start to sweat.

"You want the money, it's yours. This isn't worth bloodshed," Jim let a little whine into his voice and held his hands out farther from his body.

"Take the collar off," Dessy ordered. Jim hesitated, and the goon stuck the gun a little deeper into Jim's belly.

"It's not some toy, like what the kids wear. At home, I have one of those things from the hospital that unlocks the ends." Jim held his breath. This was where they either bought the story or the whole thing got entirely too ugly. Jim could only hope his idiot companion was back at the car calling for backup right now because if he came investigating this alley on his own, Jim was going to kill Blair himself. And why had it only occurred to him now that the man just might be that stupid?

"A thief with a little ingenuity and some serious stones to steal one of those. You'll get fifteen years for trafficking Sentinels if you get caught with that."

"Stupid law. You can get them off with a pneumatic cutter anyway," Jim shrugged. "I had to skip town a little faster than I expected once, and getting it off wasn't the problem. Finding a new collar was."

"I'm Tomas Dessy. These are my friends, Jake Washington," Dessy nodded toward the black Sentinel, the one who had a gun muzzle still buried in Jim's stomach. "And Daniel Inzunza. We call him Zunzi."

"Jim Lawson," Jim offered in return, but he kept his eyes on Washington and that gun.

"Let the man breathe some, Jake." Slowly, Jake stepped back, but the gun stayed out and pointed at Jim.

"I sure haven't heard about a sub working the second story game around here," Dessy leaned back against an old car parked illegally.

"If someone was talking about a Sentinel doing jobs, the collar wouldn't be a very good disguise. Besides, I just came up from Houston. That's where I had to bail before getting the collar off, but I think a couple of cops might have picked up my trail."

"So, you're not that good of a thief."

"They thought I was a runner," Jim corrected Dessy. "I had to hop a freight train south of Sugar Land." Jim carefully blended fact and fiction, controlling his heart beat so that not even Washington could separate out the two.

Dessy laughed again. The man did that a lot, and it was starting to annoy Jim. "My grandfather would call that getting hoisted by your own petard. I never did find out what a petard was, but you've been hoisted by yours, Jim."

"It's a good game. I'm not ready to give it up now," Jim shrugged, but then he froze as Washington brought the gun up so that Jim was staring right down the barrel.

"Jake?" Dessy asked. Jim didn't even breathe.

"Cops are coming." Jim couldn't hear anything with his hearing so low, but he looked toward the mouth of the alley and then back to Jake with sufficient confusion to convince them that he didn't know what was going on.

"Did you ever watch M*A*S*H?" Dessy asked. "Think of Jake as our version of Radar, just bigger and a hell of a lot more dangerous. So, I'm interested in seeing this contraption you have at home, amigo."

"No." Jim shook his head. "Look, you want the money, it's all yours," Jim started reaching for his pockets, but Jake stepped forward, the gun now inches from Jim's forehead, and Jim froze halfway through the gesture. "The money's yours," Jim repeated, "but I don't want any part of whatever you have going here." Slowly he raised his hands again.

"Dessy, let's just get back to our table," Inzunza said softly. This guy did look like a thug. Huge shoulders, a tattoo crawling up his neck, close cropped black hair. Jim might have called this one the dangerous one of the group except that he'd seen too many men like Dessy, men who would order dozens killed while they laughed. Jim ignored Inzunza whose hands curled into frustrated fists and Washington who held that gun in his dark hand and focused just on Dessy.

"I don't want trouble," Jim said quietly, trying to push things into a more manageable direction.

"I don't either," Dessy agreed amiably. "I just asked for an invite to your place, amigo. Surely you're not so unfriendly as to deny me that?"

Jim could hear the first wails of the sirens now, and his eyes darted to the mouth of the alley.

"Dessy," Inzunza hissed. Without even looking back, Jim struck out, his upraised hand sweeping Washington's arm to knock the gun off target before he spun and followed up with a solid punch to the big man's kidney. Washington gasped and fell to his knees, and Jim took off running without even glancing at the others. Hopefully Dessy and Inzunza wouldn't fire with the sound of sirens already so close.

Bullets didn't chase him down the alleyway, but Jim continued to zigzag until he reached the far end and came out on the street between a run down hotel and a liquor store. A group of teenagers clustered around a bench looked up at him strangely, but Jim just calmly started walking up the street.

Maybe it was a fantasy that Banks would let him work undercover, but for the first time since the capture, Jim wasn't just growling about mom's friend Jim, he actually felt like it. He felt like one more person doing his job, even if it was a damn dangerous job. Maybe he felt so good because it was a damn dangerous job, and Jim had grown used to that sharp edge on life. He was used to the adrenaline rush and the competition and the knowledge that one mistake could lead to death.

Jim opened his senses slowly, savoring not only the rush of a mission but also the freedom to allow himself to truly feel and see and hear. After missions, Jim was always wound tight, his whole body coiled for action even as he sat through the debriefing. Always before he'd felt a creeping sensation under his skin, which Jim now realized was his senses struggling to react to the adrenaline.

His father had fucked him up so much that most days he hadn't believed that his senses hadn't been like everyone else's. He'd shoved that part of him down, and as much as Jim had loved being a soldier, he had never been totally comfortable in his own skin. Now, Jim allowed the senses free rein. Worst case scenario, he'd zone, someone would call the Institute, and they'd use that tiny identification chip in the collar to call Sandburg who would pull him out.

However, Jim wasn't anywhere near a zone. He walked the street and catalogued a hundred smells and let his fingers trail over brick facades on buildings and cold metal railings and the glass windows of buildings painted with garish signs advertising cheap cigarettes and cheap booze and greasy food.

Dessy had bought it. Jim laughed out loud, but the strange behavior didn't even get a second glance in this neighborhood. Dessy thought he had a foolproof system with his fucking all-knowing Sentinel, but Jim had walked in and conned him. No wonder the cops couldn't get anyone in with Dessy. Washington would spot a liar a mile off… at least he'd spot anyone who wasn't at least as good as Sandburg.

Jim smiled wider. Obviously he was even better than Sandburg. As a Sentinel, Jim could hear his own body and control it in ways Washington couldn't imagine. At least, he couldn't imagine it without Institute training, and Jim didn't think Washington had ever gone through the system. He had fallen too quickly for that one punch, felt it too much. He probably couldn't control the levels, or maybe he couldn't control the levels individually. Turning up the hearing had probably turned up the tactile sensitivity, so that punch to the kidneys had felt like a car hitting him.

Jim remembered a time when his own control had been as clumsy. Jim's childhood was like the ocean, where waves would rise and block out the wide expanse until he didn't even remember his father's face or the feeling of his father's hands on his arms as he had told Jim the truth about what happened to Sentinels—about what would happen to him if anyone ever knew. And then the wave would pass and Jim could see the past shimmering around him.

Walking down the street, Jim could feel the waves around him retreat until he could almost see his bedroom, the sports trophies on the wall, his football in his hands. His father would constantly test him, stand in the hallway and whisper his name. If Jim answered, he'd find his father's angry face scowling down at him, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him. Demanding to know why he couldn't just keep the senses to a normal level. Demanding to know if he wanted to be taken away and traded like a piece of equipment.

Fear had led Jim to keep all his senses under control. Fear of the reality his father described and fear of his father's anger. Jim had pushed them down until he felt like he was walking through life in a ball of cotton. He'd been helping Sally in the kitchen one day when he'd heard her scream. He'd stood and stared at her in confusion until she'd run over with pot holders and yanked the hot casserole dish out of his hands. Even now, Jim rubbed his hands in memory of the pain he'd felt as soon as his senses had crept back up to normal.

Controlling just one sense instead of moving them all up or down together… it was a difficult skill to truly master, one Jim hadn't mastered until the Institute. Jim smiled as he remembered the pained wheeze and the way Washington had fallen to his knees instead of striking back. The man might be able to handle most of Dessy's security, but Jim knew exactly where the man's weaknesses lay.

Jim started whistling as he headed for the bus stop. He couldn't go back and stand at Sandburg's side in front of Dessy's place, not without ending the fantasy that Banks would let him go undercover. Instead, he'd head for the precinct.

Jim leaned against the window of Simon's office and watched as the man put the cigar in his mouth and then pulled it out again only to shove it right back in. Blair sat on the very edge of the chair in front of Simon's desk, looking ready to flee, but Jim didn't feel the same itching need to get between them this time. This time, the kid deserved to have Simon rip him a new asshole.

Simon yanked the cigar out of his mouth again, and this time he slammed his free hand down on the desk.

"What were you thinking?" Simon demanded, his voice tightly controlled.

"Jim needed a focus…"

"You went in without back up!"

Jim might have objected to that, but after the dispatcher took her precious time checking with her supervisor and after her supervisor tracked Simon down to ask for his advice, Jim had to admit that he wasn't the best backup. Unarmed and unable to effectively call for help, he couldn't do a hell of a lot to back Blair up.

"I wasn't doing anything dangerous."

"Excuse me?!" Simon's voice rose as he stood up and leaned over the desk. Blair crossed his arm and glared up. "Then why did Jim pull that dumb ass stunt at the check cashing place?"

"Because he overreacted," Blair snapped as he turned to glare at Jim. Jim just smiled sweetly back. The kid knew the truth, his pounding heart made that abundantly clear, so he could obfuscate his little brains out without upsetting Jim.

"Oh, I'll get to his part in this little disaster in a second, but right now, I'm wondering what the hell I'm going to do with you. You used to have the sense god gave a goose. I used to be able to trust you to veto the stupid plans, and now you're out there pulling stunts so stupid that not even Brown would try them!"

Jim narrowed his eyes as he considered Blair. Even back when he first met the kid, he was already taking incredible risks: He'd gotten into the car with Jim even knowing that Jim had killed that guard when he'd escaped the Army. But now Simon definitely seemed to think that Blair was acting out of character. Jim watched as Blair's back went stiff.

"I was doing what I had to do to get the job done. Man, I told you we were going to check out Dessy, and it's standard operating procedure for the guardian to work as a focus for the Sentinel, so I am totally within regulations here. Totally." Blair sounded outright pissed, but Simon didn't look like he was buying it.

"Regulations don't replace common sense. You needed backup and you went in there without it. Damn it, if I can't trust you I won't have you on the streets."

"Fine!" Blair snapped as he stood up, and Jim could smell the distress.

"Blair," Simon stopped, his lips pressed tightly together. "You always pushed at the regulations, usually where they needed pushing or could at least survive a little pushing, but I have never seen you lose your common sense like this." His voice was calmer now, and the anger that practically flowed from Blair turned. Now the man squirmed a little.

"I was trying to do my job," Blair said, his own voice lower now, and for the first time, Jim could see the uncertainty pulling at Blair. Simon was right; something sure as hell wasn't right.

"Dessy mentioned Kincaid," Jim quickly said, anxious to change the direction of this conversation now that it had turned dark. Jim tore his eyes from Blair's shocked expression to Simon's even more shocked one.

"Before they started talking about getting rid of Sandburg, Dessy mentioned Kincaid," he lied. If Blair was getting in over his head because of the Kincaid shit, Jim was ending it right here, right now.

"Kincaid," Simon said slowly, his eyes opening wide.

"No fucking way," Blair hissed as his body tightened into a tight coil. Jim could almost taste the man's desire to hit him. Even though Jim had grown up with an overwhelming fear of being abused by a guardian, somehow, even at his worst, Blair wasn't exactly frightening. Jim was more worried for him than scared of him.

"Kincaid?" Simon repeated. "Welcome to the fucking Sandburg Zone."

"I would have found some other distraction if we didn't need Dessy. But if Dessy is hooked up with Kincaid, we need to know what's going on, and this gives us an in. He thinks I'm a small time thief," Jim said quietly, and then he let Simon come to his own conclusions. Soon enough, Simon started shaking his head.

"No. No way am I sending a Sentinel in under cover. The judge would order my lifeless body draped over the courthouse steps if I did something like that."

"I can handle it," Jim growled. Simon looked at him for a long second before he fell back into his chair. Rubbing his face with a hand, he sighed.

"Look, I know you can handle it. I've read your record, at least the parts that aren't blacked out, and I have a pretty good idea of what you can handle. That doesn't change the law."

"So, you'll walk away from your only chance to get an in with Dessy and your only chance to get some information on Kincaid?" Jim crossed his arms. The feeling of satisfaction slowly drained as Jim's fantasy met with reality and got its ass kicked. God, he needed to learn his lesson. Fuck, he needed to focus on the plan, not playing cops and robbers.

"It's not our only chance," Simon sighed, "just our best one since Dessy has a Sentinel working for him."

"You can't be considering this!" Blair interrupted.

"You have a problem with it?" Jim demanded. The very fact that his companion didn't want him to take the job made his guts curl into knots.

"Aldo will have a problem with it," Blair said darkly. Jim glared down, grateful for the inches that gave him at least an illusion of power.

Simon sighed. "Which is why it's not going to happen. And Jim, I understand that you could do this job. And god knows, I know the law is unfair. Peggy Anderson and I got arrested protesting Sentinel laws back in high school, but this is just too far outside the lines." Simon leaned forward. "And Sandburg is not getting anywhere near this case. Blair, you need to get your head together. I've never had to tell you to go to the shrink before, but I'm telling you now that you need to either pull your head out of your ass or make an appointment. You have three days' suspension to think about which one you're planning on doing."

"Simon," Blair protested.

"Save it." Simon held up his hand to stop any more discussion. "Special Crimes has the Taylor case, and Jim can write up a statement for the Kincaid taskforce before you two take off. And Jim, you can consider the three days your punishment for that stunt with the check cashing place. I made sure that dispatch will take your calls from now on, but that's still no excuse for putting yourself in a position where you could have gotten yourself killed."

"I knew what I was doing," Jim defended himself.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what you were doing because that stunt was so far outside both regulations and common sense that I'm shocked that someone with as much experience as you have would try it. You've worked with a team before, so you know how it's supposed to go. Next time, you don't put yourself undercover without any backup or anyone knowing where the hell you are. So, both of you: I don't want to see your faces in this station for the next three days."

Simon swung his chair around to face the computer, and Jim could hear Blair sigh. Not waiting for Blair, Jim turned and headed out of the office. He had a desk, but no computer, so he headed for Blair's desk to type up his statement, mentally editing the conversation he'd heard to include the lie about Kincaid.

"I can't believe you said that," Blair whispered, his voice little more than an angry hiss as he slid into Jim's chair and swung his chair around to face the back wall.

"I'll do what I have to do, Junior," Jim answered calmly as he hit the space bar on Blair's computer to make the screen saver go off. "So, what program do I use to type a statement?" Jim waited for a second before he turned to see Blair ignoring him, staring at the back wall. That same sharp prick of concern nagged Jim as he watched Blair. Maybe this shit with Kincaid was getting to the kid more than he thought. After all, he hadn't really known Sandburg for all that long. "Blair?" Jim asked.

Blair swung his chair around and rolled forward, pressing against the back of Jim's chair as he leaned across and pointed to an icon on the screen. "That one. The user name is 'bjsandbu' and the password is 'Irian Jaya'."

"Irian Jaya?" Jim asked.

"Long story, and I'm not really in a mood to tell it," Blair quickly cut Jim off as he rolled his chair back away. Jim gritted his teeth and focused on the work as Blair moved away, his leg nervously bouncing, and his heartbeat slowly accelerating. For every two sentences Jim wrote, his heart rate went up another four or five beats. Finally, Jim finished and saved the document before forwarding it to Simon's email.

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jim demanded as he swung his chair to face Blair. Blair stared at him for a second, his heart beating fast enough that it sounded as though the man had been running.

"Undercover?" Blair finally asked, his voice soft, but the fury still coming through.

"Your mom's friend Jim has probably been in tighter spots, and he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"My mom's friend Jim isn't an active, unbonded Sentinel," Blair snapped, his voice still low, but now it had a tremor to it that Jim couldn't quite identify… fury maybe.

"Unbonded?" Jim asked, his eyebrows going up.

"Okay, so sometimes it takes me a little longer to figure things out when they aren't in a book, but I am not an idiot. And I get why you wouldn't want to bond with me, but you can't go into some shit like that without having a guardian or a companion or whatever the hell you want to call it."

"You think…" Jim started, but Blair exploded up from this chair.

"Wait!" Jim called as he started after Blair, but Blair just headed for the door, ignoring all the strange looks they got. Jim caught him in the hall halfway to the elevator. Grabbing the kid's arm, Jim jerked him away from the elevator and into the more private hall that led to the bathrooms. A few Traffic cops looked on curiously, but they kept walking when Blair offered a weak smile and a shrug.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim demanded once he'd pushed Blair up against the wall and leaned his hands on either side to keep him from running again.

"I've kept the secret, and I'm not about to tell anyone, but if you go undercover without a guardian to pull you out of any zone, man, you're going to get yourself killed," Blair muttered, his fists clenched in frustration, and Jim could smell the distress now that he stood so close.

"Where's the Sentinel room?" Jim demanded. He wasn't having this conversation here, and he sure wasn't going to wait until they got home.

"What?" Blair asked, blinking in surprise at the change of topic. Jim reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Where. Is. The. Sentinel. Room? There has to be one somewhere in this building."

"Geez, okay, okay," Blair said as he got an arm between them and shoved at Jim's chest. Jim let him escape before grabbing the kid's shoulder just hard enough to let him know that Jim was pissed and through being nice about it. "Second floor, across from booking," Blair said quickly.

"Come on," Jim said as he herded Blair ahead of him to the stairs, and the whole time, Jim struggled to figure out what the hell the kid was talking about. Either the kid believed that shit and he was possibly the dumbest person on earth, or the kid didn't and was trying to manipulate Jim, but either way, Jim's temper just wasn't up for taking a long drive in a small car to get home. They were settling this now.

TWENTY NINE  
***  
On the second floor, Jim followed Blair out into the hall, his hand again locked over Blair's shoulder as they hurried past the rows of small cells and smaller desks as the run-of-the mill criminals got processed through the station. A drunk guy handcuffed to a desk was shouting something, and Jim flinched from the shrill voice. They reached the back, and Jim could instantly tell the difference as the sound dampening material on the walls prevented the curses and shouts from echoing back against him.

"Blair," a woman at a small desk called out. Jim tightened his grip.

"Colleen. Hey. We just need to borrow a room for a sec. You know." Blair offered a half-excuse at they hurried by her, but she just blinked and then nodded as Jim pushed Blair right on past.

"Room three!" she called, and Blair grabbed the door below the "3" which immediately flashed from green to red. Jim gave Blair a little push into the sound-proofed room and then pulled the door closed behind them, throwing the bolt that would keep everyone out. Legally, no one could monitor a Sentinel room, but Jim still scanned the area, pacing the padded walls before he turned his attention to Blair who stood next to the low mattress in the middle of the fairly small room.

"Okay, now, what the hell are you talking about?" Jim demanded.

"Hey, I get it. Faulty bonding would totally explain how you could turn against Keith, and how you could leave your first bonded guide for that matter. Man, I know that you need to keep this quiet because they would totally put you in some permanent facility. Permanent permanent. There 'til you die permanent. I get it."

"You think…. You think I'm not bonded to you." Jim just stared.

"It's cool," Blair insisted as he held his hands up in surrender, refusing to meet Jim's gaze. "I'm not telling anyone. But if you go out there and zone, man, game over. If I can't bring you out of a zone, they're going to know."

"They'll know I'm not bonded?" Jim checked just to make sure he was following Blair's crazy logic. "I think I've been hitting you upside the head too hard. You have brain damage."

Blair narrowed his eyes. "Look, I already said I wouldn't tell them. You can trust me. And yeah, that is pretty funny considering I'm the one who lied and brought you in, but you can."

"Trust you not to tell that I'm not bonded?" Jim couldn't help it. He smiled.

"Yes. What is your malfunction?" Blair shouted, and then, like a popped balloon, he sagged and dropped onto the mattress, shoving his hair back from his face. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you, but it's not been a joy for me, either. And I'm trying here."

Jim could smell the distress now, the sour stink corrupting the air faster than the quietly whirring fans could clear it, and the smile faded. "What are you trying to do?" Jim asked quietly, suddenly feeling like he was walking over a rotting bridge and he just didn't know what he would find underneath.

"I'm trying to stay out of your way. I'm trying to keep your fucking secret. I'm trying to not fuck up your life any more than I already have, and you're not making it easy." Blair exploded up and headed for the door, but Jim got ahead of him and slipped his own body between Blair and escape. Blair stared at him for a second, and then retreated back to the side with the bed.

"Chief, let's slow down a second. Why do you think I haven't bonded?"

Blair snorted. "You mean other than leaving two different bond-mates? You mean other than not wanting me as a guardian even after claiming to bond? You mean other than you not even touching me without recoiling in horror? I'm pretty sure that right there is enough for faulty bonding syndrome."

"I didn't bond with Keith at all, and my bond to Incacha…" Jim stopped, that wasn't a part of his life he felt like sharing with Blair. "And what do you mean that I don't want you?"

Jim watched as Blair's face flushed a nice shade of toilet paper white. "Hey, it's okay. I get it. I caught you; why *would* you want me? And then there's the whole bit about saving me leading to Kincaid… you know."

"Blair," Jim said, not even sure what to say to that. They'd had this discussion in the hospital so many times that Jim couldn't summon more than a weary frustration. He didn't blame Blair; he blamed Kincaid.

"You didn't have a choice. And I offered to help you escape if you picked me, so I'm okay with that too. I just…" Blair stopped before spinning around and staring at the back wall. The room was silent as Blair took several breaths, and Jim could smell the salt of sweat and tears flavor the air.

"Okay, we're trying this again. I don't blame you for Kincaid."

"Man, you aren't even processing what Kincaid did, so how can you say that? You're still up the river De Nile!" Blair laughed, but it was a bitter sound, and he didn't turn to face Jim.

"No, Chief, I’m not. Kincaid raped me, but you can't expect me to get weepy about it. Since I was twelve years old, my old man told me that some guardian would rape me. And as a Ranger, we were trained to expect torture. No one ever mentioned rape, but when you sat in those classes listening to instructors who'd been stripped and electrocuted and beaten, you got the idea that their captors probably didn't stop at that line. I've had decades to process the idea of rape, so don't project your feelings onto me." Jim kept his voice calm and steady; he had the feeling it wouldn't take much to push Blair over some emotional edge right now, and he cursed himself for not noticing that. How could he not notice that Blair was this hurt and this… stupid was the best word Jim could come up with, although he knew that wasn't fair to Blair.

"Projecting?" Blair turned and looked at Jim. His eyes were tear-bright and he wiped at a cheek absent-mindedly. "You're psychoanalyzing me now?"

"You're the one who's going after Kincaid with no thought about your own safety. Excuse me, but that sounds like you're the one not dealing with what Kincaid did to you. I heard him that night. I heard what he said to you, and I've never heard you tell anyone what that bastard really did. You talk about the beating, but not what he threatened to do."

"See?!" Blair pointed triumphantly. "Man, if we were bonded, there's no way you could have listened to that and not gone charging in. The judge is an idiot if she bought that story about your bond to me interfering with your bond to Keith. Faulty bonding is the only thing that makes sense."

"I wasn't bonded to you at the time," Jim growled, frustrated with how the kid seemed to twist every conversation until Jim couldn't see his way to his own point. "But I still had to sit out there and I had to dig my fingers into the ground and pretend it was Kincaid's neck."

Blair just stared, but Jim could see the disbelief in the stubborn expression.

Stepping forward, Jim put himself an inch from Blair. "I would have charged in if it would have done any good. But it wouldn't have. And I didn't want to end up with a front row view of Kincaid selling you to some sadist. I'm a soldier, and I won't throw away an advantage, no matter how much I want to. You have to figure out that I'm the soldier first and the Sentinel second. I always will be."

"Faulty bonding syndrome. You feel the instincts, but they just aren't fully developed. It makes sense. And man, I'm glad you aren't bonded to me because it will make running easier for you; I get that."

"Blair," Jim started even though he didn't know what to say after that.

"But if you go after Kincaid and zone, there's no way for me to cover for you," Blair finally said, his voice steady even though Jim could hear the strained tones. Jim turned away and stared at the wall, instinct and training and fears all colliding in him until he couldn't figure out what to say, what to do. Shit, why did he have to choose such a stubborn little shit for a bond-mate?

Taking a deep breath, Jim said the first thing that came to mind. "If you go after Kincaid and get killed, there's no way for me deal with losing you," Jim admitted.

"Man, you'd be fine. I know you aren't bonded," Blair shrugged. "I know you don't want me."

Jim turned back and put his hand on Blair's shoulder, but Blair shrugged it away and darted forward into the far corner.

"You can stop fucking with me any time now," Blair said, his voice now trembling.

"I'm not fucking with you, Chief. I don't know where you got this idea that I don't want…"

"From you!" Blair practically yelled as he turned around. He took a deep breath and started again, but his voice was only marginally lower. "You make it fucking clear every time we're in the room together. Now, I'm trying to deal with this, but you're acting like an asshole, and I just want to leave right now." Blair took a step toward the door, and Jim sidestepped to cut him off.

"I never said I didn't want you," Jim quickly countered, but Blair just turned his back and returned to the corner, resting his forehead against the padded wall.

"You are a grade-A asshole," Blair whispered to the wall. "So how long are you keeping me in here?"

"I'm not… It's not like I kidnapped you," Jim snapped. Blair didn't move. "Look, I can be an asshole, but unless you start talking, I'm still not going to know what the hell you're talking about."

"You don't know?" Blair demanded as he whirled around. "You don't know? You don't remember the disgust when you thought we would share a bed? You don't remember all the little comments about how it's *my* apartment and *my* car and *my* job and *my* boss because you won't share any of it with me? You don't remember blaming me because the fucking Army wouldn't cough up your pay?" Blair might have gone on, but his voice broke, and Jim was suddenly faced with Blair, tears running down his face even while his expression was one of fury. Jim's stomach knotted and rolled as he considered all the things he had said. At the time, he'd thought they rolled off Blair, that he understood they were just frustrated jabs. Obviously not.

He reached out for Blair, but the man flinched back. "Don't fucking go there. Look, I'm dealing with this the best I can. I'm processing. I'm dealing." Blair snapped the words out as through he were trying to convince himself, but Jim ignored them as he took a slow step forward.

"Chief, I never meant…"

"You never meant to get caught. Got it. We're on the same page." Blair reached up and angrily wiped the tears away. "I fucking hate crying. I blame Naomi, you know. She raised me to express my feelings, and sometimes I just don't process them fast enough to keep from making a complete fool out of myself." Blair turned back to the wall, wiping away more tears.

"Chief, will you stop being stubborn for long enough to listen to what I'm saying? You aren't making a fool out of yourself. I think you're just pointing out that I've been a fool," Jim said as he eased forward another step and reached up to let his hand rest on Blair's back. Blair shivered like a horse trying to get rid of a fly, but then he stood silent, his arms wrapped around his own stomach.

"Chief, I didn't know you believed the shit I was saying. It was just… it was me being an asshole."

Blair shrugged but didn't answer.

"Do you really think I'm not bonded to you?" Jim asked quietly. Blair was silent for so long, that Jim was just about convinced he wouldn't answer.

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Man, it fits. And you're right… it's your life and I can't tell my mom's friend Jim how to live."

"Blair, turn around," Jim said softly, letting his hand rest on Blair's back until the man started to turn. Now Jim could see the puffiness in his eyes and hear the unsteady breaths even if the tears had dried. "You are my bond-mate and my companion, even when I act like an idiot."

Blair just shook his head. "Don't do this to me, Jim. Please, don't do this now." Blair closed his eyes, and Jim reached up and let his hand rest against Blair's cheek. The man's eyes immediately opened wide, fear and uncertainty making his gaze lock onto Jim.

Jim looked Blair right in the eye, focusing on the blue and ignoring the signs of Blair's recent tears. The blue sharpened, the solid color fading into a swirl of blue hues. Along the outside edge, the blue darkened to a thin line and a river of dark blue lay close to the black iris. But the black iris wasn't black any more. Jim could see himself reflected in it, his face distorted by the shadows of the veins on the back of Blair's eye. Ignoring that, Jim let himself focus on the blues, and the way light blue bled into a sky blue. He focused closer until the blues filled his world.

"Jim! Jim, follow my voice back. Come on. Don't do this. Whatever you're trying to prove, you're just scaring the shit out of me here. Come on. Man, and I thought you were an asshole before. No way. Now this… this is being an asshole."

"Nice, Sandburg," Jim groaned as he blinked. His head pounded and he had to squint against the bright lights of the room.

"Oh man, I'll turn those down, but if you did that on purpose, you deserve whatever headache you have. Totally deserve," Blair complained as he got up, his movement making the ground shift and tilt. That was Jim's first clue that he was laying on the mattress in the Sentinel room, his shoes off and his shirt open.

"How long?"

"Nearly fifteen minutes, and if you were trying to prove something…"

"Not trying, proving," Jim corrected him. "I proved that you could pull me out of a zone."

"You proved that you're an asshole determined to give me a heart attack," Blair argued as he turned the lights down. Jim sighed.

"If I plead guilty to being an asshole, can we have this argument later?"

"Man, just promise me you'll never do something that stupid again," Blair said, his voice now soft, and Jim cracked one eye open to look at him.

"I'll try to avoid it," Jim agreed. His head pounded and he couldn't quite control his vision which faded in and out making the whole room fade and brighten and wave in a way that made him vaguely seasick. He tried closing his eyes, and then he just got to see the veins and cells of his eyelids backlit by the dim lights in the room. Slowly that image faded as a series of colored dots chased across his vision.

"I didn't mean things the way you took them," Jim finally said as the seasickness receded.

"You didn't mean to constantly point out that this is my life, not yours, and that you'd much rather be doing anything other than being here?" Blair clarified.

Jim counted to ten before slowly opening his eyes. The kid was never going to make this easy. "Chief…"

"Hey, no, you're right. I shouldn't be putting you on the spot when you're still recovering. One of us has to be reasonable." Blair held out his hands as though in surrender, but Jim wasn't letting the conversation end here… it gave Blair too much wiggle room to assume the worst, and Jim had the feeling that Sandburg had already done too much assuming.

"Chief…"

"And whatever bug has been up your butt for the past week or so, it's obviously not that you haven't bonded."

"Chief…"

"And if I keep talking, maybe you'll just give up because I really am feeling a little raw right now. I need some processing time, you know? Burn a little sage, meditate, play some South American drums."

"Please don't. I have drums pounding in my head already," Jim commented as he let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Can I help?" Blair asked quietly. "The classes…"

"They told you that a Sentinel coming out of a zone is a clingy, emotional, strung-out-on-pain mess?" Jim finished for him.

"Hey, this is me listening to you because I'm starting to think I don't know a lot of what I thought I knew. What's that old saying, it's not what you don't know that gets you in trouble, it's what you think you do know."

"Yeah, well the Institute is half right. It is painful and touch does help, so get your ass down here," Jim suggested softly.

"Nice invitation. I've gotten better offers before," Blair quickly answered, but he just as quickly came to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Jim…"

"I'm an asshole. We've already covered this," Jim sighed. "I don't blame you and I’m not disgusted by you. I just…" Jim reached out and pulled on Blair's arm, tugging him down to the mattress so that Blair lay with his back to Jim's chest, and Jim curled an arm around Blair's waist. He could feel Blair's heart beat and smell him and feel his warmth.

"We aren't doing too well at finishing sentences, here," Blair observed after a few minutes.

"I just see myself fitting into this life too easily," Jim admitted, whispering the words into Blair's ear and watching individual wisps of hair float and tangle on the puffs of air. It was easier admitting this without those sharp eyes watching him. "I'm not cut out to be a slave, and it's just getting too easy to see myself becoming one."

"You aren't…. I don't want you to be a slave. I never wanted that for you." Blair tried to wiggle around to look at Jim, but Jim tightened his hold, keeping Blair tucked in close as he closed his eyes, seeking a sense of privacy.

"And that's why you scare the shit out of me. You see me as something more than just a Sentinel… usually," Jim amended himself, "and that makes it too easy to imagine making a life here where we could be partners."

"And that's what I want. If I ever made you feel like less than…"

"It's not you, Chief. Every time Aldo ignores me like I'm a piece of furniture or Raul thinks I'm some sort of hero just because of this collar around my neck, I remember why I hate being a Sentinel." Jim felt the headache retreat as Blair's warmth sank into him. His senses focused on his companion as they struggled to level out at 'normal.' Jim leaned forward so that he buried his nose in the curls and the dark smell of Blair.

"But helping find Kari's killer and working to bring down Kincaid, man, that has got to count for something," Blair whispered. He'd stopped squirming now, and he pressed his warmth back into Jim's embrace.

"It counts for too much," Jim admitted. "It makes it too easy to tell myself that I could live with this life. But Blair—"

"I would never see you as anything other than Jim Ellison, Army Ranger and general all-round asshole, and I know that Simon has just as much respect for you. But if you want to leave, I so totally meant what I said. I will help you any way I can. The Army should be sending your back pay, and that can open a lot of doors."

"Canada," Jim said flatly.

"Totally. Hell, you could buy some land and legally emigrate. I mean, it wouldn't be easy since most countries get a little nervous with American Sentinels coming in, but there are options."

Jim didn't answer. Options. Options that included him leaving Blair. Options that left Blair with his life here and sent Jim somewhere else where he would have respect but no companion. Jim closed his eyes and tried to just feel the pleasure of holding his companion, but all the fears and choices leeched up through his resolve. His old fantasy about throwing Blair in the trunk of the car returned, but Jim wouldn't do to Blair what others had basically done to him.

"Jim?" Blair asked in the silence.

"Yeah. I know. You're a good man, and sometimes that makes it a little too easy to take a shot at you when I'm mad at the world," Jim said as he let go of Blair. He turned away and sat up on his side of the mattress. "Headache's gone." Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he pulled his shoes back on.

"Wow. That was fast. The Institute—and I'm not going to finish that because we've already established that their batting average is like…" Blair made a whistling noise like a bomb falling and then followed up with a little mock explosion. "Yeah, not very reliable. Now that the paper on the Institute's inadvertent damage to Sentinel control is finished, I could write a paper investigating some of the other underlying assumptions. Eli is really excited about the idea of doing a series of papers. He thinks the preliminary data is really exciting, and some of the historical research is amazing. Totally amazing."

"Sounds good, Chief," Jim agreed as he stood up.

"So, you aren't, you know, miserable being stuck with me?"

"Chief, I know I'm lucky to even have you," Jim admitted. Unfortunately, he was a little too lucky to get Blair as a guardian. With luck like this, he was going to end up being a slave for the rest of his life because Canada wasn't looking that good, not without Blair there.

Blair smiled, his whole face lighting with wonder and relief.

"Come on, let's go get dinner," Jim said as he slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "And if Simon can get approval, I am going undercover with Dessy," Jim quickly added.

"Hey, no problem. Worst comes to worst, I'll be there to back you up and pull you out of any zone."

"I know you will, Chief," Jim nodded as he opened the door to the Sentinel room and guided Blair out into the hall. The noise of booking immediately washed over him, but he dismissed it easily as he let the sound of Blair's heart beat act as a buffer between him and the sounds of the station.

"Hey Colleen, have a great night," Blair called as they passed the desk on the way out.

"Night, Blair," she smiled back.

Jim nodded to her before they headed for the elevator and home.

THIRTY  
***  
Jim walked in the loft and let his senses check the perimeters automatically as Blair came in behind him and headed for the kitchen with a sack of groceries.

"Mashed potatoes or baked?" Blair asked.

"Either one is fine with me," Jim said as he finished his sensory sweep. Blair's room had a strange smell coming from it, and Jim headed for the heavy door. Pulling it the rest of the way open, he spotted the brown apple core sitting next to the bed.

"Oh man, sorry. I left my breakfast in there, didn't I?" Blair pushed past him, and Jim felt the flash of warmth across his shoulder as they connected. Then Blair was hopping over books strewn across the floor so he could grab the core. "You really should get retested because your range is way better than even your jacket said."

"Never let the enemy see your true abilities," Jim countered. "I always threw the tests off a little."

Blair looked up at him with an expression that was caught somewhere between awe and horror. "Oh man, you are something. Those tests are supposed to be designed so that a Sentinel can't obfuscate." Blair headed back toward the kitchen. The garbage had been replaced with a tall ceramic Sentinel-friendly bin guaranteed not to pick up odors from the garbage inside. Blair dropped the core through the little swinging door on the top.

"No test is fool-proof," Jim commented.

"And you're no fool," Blair finished. Jim leaned against the wall and watched as Blair bounced around the kitchen. The man wasn't the same one who'd left the loft that morning. That man had been guarded, every movement had been small and controlled. This Blair was energetic, just as likely to bounce into a turn as to just turn. Jim watched suspiciously, remembering something Incacha had once told him about companions and guides and the true path.

"Man, there are just so many assumptions when it comes to Sentinels. Eli is totally into this new paper on the Institute damaging control, and he's sure that I could do my dissertation on something related to debunking Sentinel myths. Of course, that would require a control group, and that's the problem. I mean, I can't exactly use you as a control group of one, and since you've gone through the system, you aren't even qualified for the control group. Or at least, your behavior now isn't. Eli and I were emailing about using your records and the whole incident in Houston with the METRORail hijacking as proof that some of the assumptions are totally bullshit."

"You know about that?" Jim asked as he pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchen. Blair was trying to peel potatoes, but the way he kept gesturing with the knife just made Jim a little uncomfortable. He didn't feel like having an emergency room visit tonight. "Let me do the potatoes," he asked. Blair handed over the knife and pushed the potatoes towards him before he turned to the refrigerator.

"Hey, all of Houston knows about the Avenging Sentinel," Blair snorted.

"The what?" Jim looked up sharply.

"Oh man, I'll show you the clippings, but you are the stuff of folk hero legend down there. But that's not the point. What Eli and I want to include in a paper is the fact that you continued to function at ground zero of a tear gas attack. You identified the hostage-takers and took them all out without zoning, and that so should not have been possible if the literature was right. But Eli had a friend who's from France, and she documented…"

"Folk hero?" Jim demanded. He remembered the day vividly, and at the time, he just wanted off that damn train. Yeah, he'd taken out the hijackers, but only because he didn't have a choice. "I just did what I had to."

Blair froze, half a fish minus the head hanging from one hand. He laughed. "You just don't get it, do you? Yeah, you just did what you had to, but you did what no one is supposed to be able to. A Sentinel should have been disabled by the tear gas, and a non-Sentinel wouldn't have been able to see anything through the smoke. And then the whole disappearing act was just a little too Lone Ranger. The whole city thinks you're some sort of hero."

Jim paused in the middle of peeling the potatoes and put the knife down. "I'm not really comfortable with that."

"Hey, they aren't idolizing some random Sentinel. They just idolize Jim Ellison, this man who can do what no one else can. But then again, if you're right and I can find the research subjects, I just may prove that you're just an Average Joe and any Sentinel could do the same if they weren't crippled by the system. So, if you want to play hero, we'd better vacation down there fast before I steal your thunder," Blair teased. He gave Jim a wink and then slapped the fish down on the cutting board.

"Steal away, Chief. I do not need to be a hero." Jim went back to cutting the potatoes.

"You say that now, but just you watch. I'm going to prove you're just average and then you'll be sorry you never went down there and had your parade."

"They had a parade?" Jim asked, looking up from his work. Blair looked over at him incredulously before he started smiling.

"Smartass," Jim complained, realizing the kid had been joking. Blair shrugged.

"Totally. But as much as I think the system is wrong, I'm still thinking that the whole Lone Ranger bit is probably above and beyond what most Sentinels could do. So, your cape is safe with me. But anyway, Eli and I are kinda going around with the whole idea of a control group." Blair picked up the deboning knife and promptly started gesturing with that. Jim flinched, wishing Blair had just fixed nice, safe, no-knife-required hamburgers.

"He wants to talk to runners." Jim finished with the potatoes and put the knife down as he looked at Blair. Blair nodded before going back to deboning the fish.

"Yeah, he says that an anthropologist has a duty to look at the edges of society, but being a cop, I can't do that. I mean, yeah, I'm not in the Sentinel division any more, but if Simon had a fit today, I don't even want to think what kind of kittens he'd give birth to if I tried to track down runners and then NOT bring them in. We're talking big, mutant kittens. Possibly radioactive." The deboning knife made a circle in the air.

"What makes him think you can?" Jim asked as he remembered Blair mentioning Ruby's name. Maybe Eli knew the kid had connections.

"He thinks you could make contact. He thinks with your reputation as a runner, people might be willing to talk to you." Blair paused, a rib bone half out of the fish. "He wants you to go with him on a tour of the homeless shelters. He says that if our hypothesis is right, there are probably Sentinels who function well enough to stay away from the Institute, but not well enough to keep a job. You know, they'd get headaches and sensory storms and have to call in sick too much. Hey, we can use Washington as part of the control group. I mean, that's not the best job to have, but he's definitely holding down a job. But again, you can't make research out of one subject, so Eli wants to make contact with runners."

"Which he wants me to help him find. Not happening," Jim shook his head. Blair returned to pulling fish bones.

"I told him that you wouldn't go for it, but I'd run it by you."

"And if I said yes?" Jim asked, just a little bothered by Blair answering for him.

"I'd have one more thing to hide from Simon," Blair brought the knife up and then slammed it down, chopping the fish in half.

"So, just send him to Ruby," Jim suggested. The knife came down again, but this time it went off target so that it cut a crooked, roughly one inch strip off one side of the fish. Jim looked at the mangled piece and then up to Blair who stared at him with undisguised shock. "You're getting the small part," Jim commented.

Blair glanced down. "I don't know what you're talking about," he quickly said, his heart pounding as he put the knife down and grabbed for a pen. 'Aldo-Sentinel listening?!?!' he wrote on the paper in thick letters, heavily pressed into the paper.

"He tried. He couldn't get a warrant," Jim shrugged. "I think he would have gone ahead and set up anyway except that Sentinel who came with him is actually assigned to some woman named Sheila and she had a thing or two to say to Aldo."

"Sheila Irwin," Blair said slowly. "She's an even bigger bitch than Aldo is."

Jim snorted. If this was Blair's normal personality, now he could see why Simon had been concerned. The kid had a vicious sense of humor. "Yeah, from the sounds of it, she was ready to confiscate a body part or two."

"And Sheila would, at least if she could find any on Aldo. Oh man, that woman scares me worse than Sam in forensics. We have some seriously terrifying women down there. And Carolyn in Technical Support…I'm telling you, it's death by paper cut if you screw up her department. Brown once switched file numbers trying to slip his stuff ahead of a case from Burglary and I think he's still trying to grow hair back in places."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jim laughed as he carried the potato chunks over and dropped them in the pot of boiling water waiting on the stove. Blair was still laughing wryly.

"But how do you know about Sheila and Aldo?"

"IA is just one floor up from the break room. What? Did you think I really liked stale candy bars that much?" Jim put the lid on the pan.

Blair put the frypan on the stovetop next to the potatoes, resting his hand on Jim's back as he did. Jim could feel the need build in the pressure from that hand, and Jim stepped away.

"You could hear them… from another floor?!"

"It's not like the building is soundproofed," Jim shrugged. "Once I get used to the sounds in a place, it's not that hard to filter them out and focus on what I want. So, are we through changing the subject now?" Jim backed up and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Blair prep the pan for the fish.

"What?" Blair asked, turning to give Jim another of those innocent looks.

"The CIA would have loved you." Jim shook his head. "You have redirection down to an art. Hell, you would have given a few operatives I've known a run for their money. However, I'm still interested in why you aren't just going to Ruby if you want to talk to runners. She's part of the underground, isn't she?"

"How? No, no, if you've been using some covert ops mojo on me, I don't want to know," Blair said as he held up a hand.

Jim smiled, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. "Mojo?"

"A lot of people think mojo means magic, but no way. It's this little bag that you sew together with magical ingredients, and then you hide it. It gives you luck, charm… you know, personal magnetism. A person with good mojo just has things fall in their lap, and short of you having a little mojo bag hidden somewhere, I have no idea how you came up with that name."

"You must have been really out of it at the hospital." Jim shook his head as Blair picked up the fish and rubbed spices on it before dropping it in the hot pan.

"We talked about this? Man, how many drugs were they giving me?"

"When Aldo first came, you remember that?"

Blair paused, spatula raised. "Vaguely. It seems like he was acting like an idiot, but Aldo usually acts like an idiot, so I might just be projecting my expectations."

"No, he acted like an idiot alright. But after he left, you admitted that you tried to help those two runners."

"Oh." Blair stared at the pan. "Okay, I sorta remember that. And Jim, I did try to help them. They were just hurting so bad, and I wouldn't have tried to call Sentinel Division if they hadn't needed the help."

Jim held up his hand. "Let's have this fight another time. The point I was trying to get to was when you told me that if these guys just needed a hot meal and a shower, that Ruby would have taken care of that without calling you in the first place. So, she's in the underground."

Blair shoulders sagged. "Man, I was trying to repress that."

"What, the fact that she's in the underground, or the fact that you accidentally told me?" The potato pan started to boil over, and Jim took the lid off to let some of the heat escape.

"Both! Yeah, Ruby's in the underground, but it's not safe for me to even think about that. I hang around too many Sentinels, and most, unlike you, are all whoo-hoo Institute. It's like their alma mater. And no way am I putting her in the middle of this thing with Eli. Dr. Stoddard's just got to get used to the fact that I'm a cop and there are things I can't do without getting my ass thrown in jail for contempt."

"But an anthropologist could do them?" Jim asked as he used a fork to poke at a potato.

Blair sighed. "Maybe. Okay, it's still illegal as hell, but the courts sometimes take a scientist's ethical requirement to protect the subject into account before doing something like throwing them in jail for fifteen years for aiding a runner. But since I'm a cop…"

"They'd throw your ass under the jail?" Jim finished.

"Oh hell yeah!"

"And Eli Stoddard doesn't like that you're letting your work as a cop interfere with your work as an anthropologist."

Blair poked at the edge of the fish, lifting them to check even though they weren't anywhere near done. "I pointed out that we never would have gotten this much data if I weren't a cop. But," Blair shrugged. "Sometimes with email it’s a little hard to tell if someone is frustrated or ready-to-rip-you-a-new-one furious, but he was somewhere between those two."

Jim idly stirred the potatoes. He'd wondered how to get close to Ruby, and now this had practically fallen into his lap. He should be leaping at the opportunity, but Jim couldn't muster more than a half-hearted resignation. "Blair, I could work with Stoddard. You don't have to be involved at all."

"Jim, if anyone found out…"

"Hey, I'm just a Sentinel. If they wouldn't put me in jail for murder, which I'm still not comfortable with, they sure won't do anything about me escorting some anthropologist around."

"No, but they'll take you away and say that I'm not responsible enough to protect you. Jim, I know you want your freedom, and yeah, in a perfect world, you should be able to do this. But if they find out…"

"I'll get a new guardian," Jim finished for him. He poked a potato harder than necessary and it broke in half.

"Yeah." Blair breathed the word. Standing over the stove, the sweat had started to form at his hairline, and that intensified the scent of distress. Jim turned around and walked back to the table as he considered his options. He was going to have to break this bond eventually, either with the help of the underground or the Institute. If he got caught, the worst case scenario would be removing him from Blair's care and reassigning him.

Jim gripped the back of a chair so hard that his knuckles turned white, but logically, he knew that would get the plan back on track faster than anything. He hadn't agreed to stay any longer than it took to find Kincaid and get the help he needed to break the bond. And if Blair was willing to do more than provide him a temporary safe haven, he would have said something by now.

"You'd rather I not go with Stoddard. You'd prefer that I stick to the police work that has less of a chance of pissing someone off," Jim said, checking that he understood Blair's argument.

"Shit, you're good at police work, Jim. I know I should have said it earlier, but you saved my ass with Dessy, and thank you. You're a good cop."

"But in your application for a Sentinel, you asked for someone who could help you with both anthropological and police work."

"Yeah, but if you get caught…"

"That guy at work, the Sentinel who still works with his brother even though his wife is his legal guardian because she does the stay at home mom thing."

"Jamal?" Blair asked. He flipped the fish and then turned to focus on Jim.

"If Jamal gets in trouble at work, who catches shit from the judge?" Jim asked.

"His brother, probably."

"Exactly. So, if you loan me out to Stoddard, and we get caught, Stoddard is in trouble. And Blair," Jim stepped forward. "We aren't going to get caught."

Blair studied his face, and Jim felt a flare of resentment. Maybe Blair saw that because he held up his hands. "Fine. If you want to do this, just don't get caught. Man, I cannot believe I just said that."

"Your mom's friend Jim has gone on more dangerous missions. Besides, I don't want to hang around here for three days."

"No joke. For the first time in like forever, I’m caught up on all my school work, and three days suspension—" Blair gave an exaggerated shudder. "Not to mention just sitting around waiting for Wendy to put that footage of us on the evening news. Oh yeah, that's going to be fun. I'll email Eli tonight."

"The fish is done."

The dinner conversation faded into more trivial discussion of sports and cars and the allegorical nature of anthropomorphic folk tales, and Jim found himself enjoying the sudden flow of words from Blair. He could sit back offering an occasional biting comment, and Blair carried the rest of the conversation. With half of his mind listening to Blair's explanation of Brer Rabbit traditions that mimicked folk legends about Sentinels, Jim considered how to best use a personal connection with the underground.

Blair was right that buying land in Canada would probably provide some protection. Of course, it would also make him easier to track, but some fake papers should be able to cover his trail. If he could find the right forger, he might even get fake Canadian papers. His back pay would help with that. He doubted that he could fool Canadians, but as long as he kept control, he trusted Canadians to turn a willfully blind eye to their Sentinel neighbor. They might be more sympathetic if he claimed a country of origin other than America, considering the reputation American Sentinels had around the world, but he didn't think he could effectively fake another language. And while he knew Quetcha, he didn't think he could pass as a descendant of Incans—not with his blue eyes.

Blair finished a story about Stoddard falling in a stream after the local tribe tried to teach him to use a fishing spear, and Jim laughed. Pushing aside a thousand fears, he forced himself to just focus on now. Now he had a companion who smiled and laughed and smelled like raspberries in the sun. Now he was fed and safe. Now he'd made a choice Blair didn't like, and they were both okay with it.

"It sounds like going anywhere with Eli is about as safe as hanging out with you," Jim joked as he scooped up the last of his potatoes.

"Hey, not fair," Blair protested, but he smiled and Jim could feel the warm comfort of that smile.

"I haven't known you that long, and you've been kidnapped twice, people have plotted to kill you twice, you've been arrested, suspended, beaten up, and harassed by the local jerk from I.A. I'm thinking you're a trouble magnet, Chief."

"I was only kidnapped once," Blair protested.

"The first day I met you, I put you face down on that couch and tied you up," Jim pointed out. He remembered the feeling of Blair lying under him, and Jim shook his head as he forced his thoughts away from that bit of sensory recall.

"Oh. Yeah. But hey, you've been shot down over Peru, lost two guardians, got hijacked, kidnapped, drugged… it's not like you're doing any better," Blair pointed out.

"Raped," Jim added. Blair fell quiet. "It happened, and it's not something I want you to go around avoiding," Jim added when the silence went on for just a little too long.

"Man, I'm just a little… or a whole lot guilty and uncomfortable with that part. It doesn't do the digestion much good." Blair put his fork down and looked at his mostly empty plate before pushing it away.

"I'm going to keep saying that it wasn't your fault until you believe me," Jim sighed. "I made a choice, and quite frankly, I got what I wanted out of that choice. But what I'm saying here is that if this Stoddard can get in that much trouble fishing, it's going to feel like hanging out with you."

Blair gave him a dirty look.

"Maybe I should take out extra insurance," Jim teased.

"Maybe Simon should," Blair countered.

"Oh, Simon definitely should. Between you breaking the rules and Brown's mouth, he needs it."

"Bending. Not breaking, bending." Blair shook his finger at Jim as he picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. Jim grabbed his own plate and glass.

"Bending? Oh, so when you got in the car with an escaped runner, that was just bending the rules?"

"You looked like you needed the company," Blair shrugged as he gave Jim a wicked looked over one shoulder. Jim could feel his cock twitch immediately, and he froze right in the middle of the kitchen. With a smile, Blair reached back and took the plate and glass from Jim's fingers, dropping them on the counter with a clatter.

Blair didn't say anything, but he returned to stand a mere inch from Jim's chest, looking up curiously, and Jim could feel the heat from Blair's body soak into him. Slowly Jim started backing up.

"Jim?" Blair asked, not following but definitely looking more than a little confused.

"Chief, there's a thin line between me keeping control and throwing you down on the closest bed, possibly the closest couch or table, and I'm sliding just a little too close to that line," Jim warned as he backed up another step.

"Man, you don't have to keep control," Blair promised.

"Yeah, Chief, I do." Jim turned his back and just prayed the Blair would keep his distance but, of course, the man just came closer.

"I get it. I know that it can't be easy to let go of control, but I trust you. Whatever you need, Jim." Blair let his hand brush over Jim's back, and Jim stepped away again.

"Junior," Jim warned. "This isn't about whether you trust me. This is about the fact that I would rather cut off my own legs than give you up. If I let myself do this, I won't be able…"

Jim didn't finish his sentence. He just headed for the stairs. He needed a little space, and he could only hope that Blair gave him that space. If the kid followed him upstairs, Jim wasn't going to be able to control himself. Luckily, when he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear Blair head for the kitchen.

Without even getting undressed, Jim lay on the bed and stared up as he listened to the water running and the sound of the scrubber sliding over the fry pan and Blair's unsteady, deep breaths. It took every bit of control Jim possessed to simply lay there until finally Blair headed for his own room under the stairs. Even with the heavy soundproofed door closed, Jim could hear Blair's stereo pounding out the sound of drums and smell the burning sage.

THIRTY ONE  
***  
"Jim, wake up. Oh man, move your bones," Blair shoved at the lump under the sheets of his old bed, and before he could react, he found himself grabbed and shoved face-first into the mattress, a sharp pain between his shoulder blades keeping him there and one arm pinned at the small of his back.

"Who? Blair?" Jim asked, his voice still blurry with sleep, but at least the pressure on Blair's back disappeared. "What the hell?"

Blair shifted to his side and rolled his shoulder to ease the pain in his back. Of course, that made the stiffness in his still healing shoulder ache more, and Blair decided that he just might need to take one of the pain pills the hospital had sent home with him.

"Wow. Talk about waking up cranky." Blair said shakily as he sat up. He could feel his muscles shake with adrenaline.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, hey, no problem." Blair studied Jim. He was a big man, and Blair was always surprised at how quickly Jim could move.

"Blair?" Jim finally asked in the silence. Blair stared at Jim's chest, the way his muscles flowed under the skin as Jim pushed himself up.

"Yeah?"

"Did you want something?" Jim prompted, and Blair blushed. This wasn't his bedroom any more, and he really didn't have that good of an excuse for invading Jim's privacy, especially not the morning after Jim had specifically asked for a little space. Yeah, he had an excuse, just not a good one. Luckily, Jim looked more amused than upset, but after the whole discussion last night, Blair knew he didn't have a right to go crawling in bed with the guy and making this whole situation harder. Blair quickly slid off the bed and stood beside it, inching back.

"Oh man, yeah, this is not what it looks like."

"And what does it look like?" Jim sat the rest of the way up so that the sheets pooled around his waist, and Blair looked over the railing to the living room below. Stared at it, in fact. He should paint. The walls were dingy.

"Okay, I actually don't know what this looks like," Blair admitted without looking at Jim, "but this is not me trying to push that whole conversation from last night. I was meditating last night, not just about… you know… but also about the case, and I think I came up with something," Blair said. He'd expected to explain more, possibly justify and maybe even plead and beg a bit, but Jim just nodded.

"Whatever this is, Chief, can it wait until I pee or do we need to do this right now?"

"Hey, this can wait for peeing and breakfast and maybe a call to Eli because he's going to really appreciate your offer to help," Blair agreed as he inched faster toward the staircase. Shit, he really had overstepped some boundaries here, so they could probably both use a little distance.

"Chief?" Jim called when Blair reached the top step. He sighed. "Sorry about the manhandling. You just kind of startled me."

Blair finally looked back toward the bed. Jim had one leg slung over the side, and Blair tried hard to focus on Jim's face and not the leg or the chest or the way his shoulder had that really nice curve that Blair couldn't seem to get, even during that three month bit where he'd gone to the gym every day with Rick.

"No problem," Blair brushed off Jim's manhandling without pointing out that he hadn't minded in the least. Okay, he'd minded the whole pain part, but that was Kincaid's fault, and if not for the whole sore shoulder, Blair would not mind at all being face down on a mattress for Jim. Blair took a deep breath and focused on the blanket hung on the living room wall as he tried to bring his thoughts back to safe territory. "I should not have woken you up like that. Ranger reflexes. Seriously impressive. Seriously."

"You just caught me in the middle of a dream," Jim admitted. Blair opened his mouth, about to ask about it when Jim shoved the covers off and with only the boxers on, Blair had a view of Jim's morning erection. Instead of asking, Blair just fled downstairs without another word. After all, a man could only count on ethics to carry him just so far before old-fashioned lust beat it up, shoved it in the closet and took over the brain.

Blair stuck his head in the refrigerator in search of appropriate breakfast food and left it there as Jim padded downstairs and disappeared into the bathroom. "Eggs, eggs or eggs," Blair mused as he checked the shelves. "Man, we're both going to be on cholesterol pills if we don't get some healthy food in the house. I used to be so good about that," Blair complained to the refrigerator. He knew full well why the healthy food had disappeared. It was the same reason why the spider plant near the window was slowly turning brown and why he was down to two shirts that might pass for clean if Jim didn't stand too close. Given Jim's nose, that might mean Jim needed to keep at least fifty yards upwind.

If his midnight revelation didn't pan out, Blair certainly had cleaning to keep him busy for at least a day or two. Blair filled a glass with water and snagged the phone on his way to watering the dying spider plant. Dialing Eli's number, he tucked it into his shoulder and focused on not dumping water all over the rug as he tried to save his plant.

"I'm really sorry there buddy. You put up with so much, don't you?" he asked the plant.

"Blair?" a voice asked from the other end of the phone.

"Eli?" Blair just about choked. "Man, I didn't hear your phone ring. I was just talking to my spider plant, sorry about that." Blair could feel himself blush as he finished watering the suffering plant.

"Blair, it's good to hear from you. I take it you got the situation with your arrest worked out."

"Oh, yeah," Blair cringed, realizing he hadn't told Eli once the charges were dropped. "It all got cleared up a couple of days ago."

"Well, that's good. Of course, I appreciate that it gave you time to finish the article on the Institute. I should have my edits back to you by Tuesday, and I have a confirmation from Clark over at Anthropological Footprints to publish the full article. This is quite the feather in your cap." Eli chuckled. "That Sandburg luck comes through for you again."

"I don't know that luck had much to do with it."

"Oh my boy, if you hadn't brought something pretty amazing to the table this semester, I'm afraid the Chancellor would have pressed the issue of your dissertation. You finished your course work two years ago, and continuing to take a few random classes will not permanently postpone your obligation to finish a dissertation… at this point, I think the committee would accept a dissertation on just about any topic as long as it actually got finished."

"Eli," Blair breathed, cringing as he glanced toward the bathroom. Okay, getting dressed down was bad enough, but if Jim were listening…

"But Blair, this new article—this has all the fire and passion I have missed. Your work on the remaining tribal Sentinels of Samanjata, Zambia was incredible, but lately you have just been writing…" Eli paused.

"Crap. Yeah, I know," Blair admitted. He'd picked subjects based on how well they would give him cover for his work with the Sentinel division, which is why he'd been writing that article on public space when he met Jim. His heart hadn't been in any of it. "But Eli…"

"I'm not sure I would call it crap. You have always produced solid, well-documented efforts; however, your inability to commit to a dissertation is endangering your enrollment in the program. Now that you seem to have found a passion again, I can tell you that your time at the university was clearly in danger."

"Oh man, really?" Blair asked. He trusted Eli. The man had told him the truth even back when Blair was the obnoxious sixteen-year-old wunderkind who everyone else avoided. But this truth… this was truth Blair really didn't need to hear right now.

"I fear so. That's one reason why I am so excited about this new hypothesis of yours. I hope you've called to tell me that you've reconsidered your position."

Blair took a deep breath, and then paused. Okay, so Aldo couldn't get a warrant, and Sheila wouldn't help with some illegal Sentinel observation. That didn't mean the man was above illegally tapping the phone. "Eli," Blair started slowly. "My time restrictions working with the police department make it really hard for me to throw myself into the work. You're asking me to…"

"To be an anthropologist," Eli interrupted. "I remember a time when you illegally crossed the Zambia-Zimbabwe border. I remember a certain young man who spear hunted in Irian Jaya without any of the proper papers. Blair, those were some of your finest moments as a student of anthropology, and you did not worry about… time restrictions."

"Oh man, that is not fair. Yeah, my time with the police means I have a few time restrictions, but it was my work with the police that totally led to this new hypothesis," Blair argued. He wandered over to his main bookshelf and absent-mindedly scanned the titles as he formed his arguments. He couldn't break the law. Police were held to a different standard. He might lose custody of Jim. Blair closed his eyes as he even considered that. It wouldn't happen. He'd run with Jim first, but he hoped it didn't come to that, either. Blair just had to find a way to wake the world up to the fact that Sentinels deserved respect, and he had to get Jim to see that the system wasn't slavery. Yeah, it sucked, and Blair was going to do his best to change that, but it wasn't slavery.

"Blair, this is important work, but if you allow time restrictions to stop you from doing your work..."

"No way. I can totally do the work, but the time restrictions just mean I can't collect data from primary sources. But that's not why I called," Blair quickly added when Eli sighed heavily.

"Oh? I really do wish you'd think about this."

"Jim said he could help you out if you still wanted to do some of the primary source interviews," Blair quickly cut off the rest of Eli's comment. Eli was his mentor and the closest thing Blair came to having a father, but he sure didn't need a lecture, especially when Eli just didn't understand the consequences. Yeah, Blair was happy to bend the rules with the best of them, but he wouldn't put his guardianship of Jim in danger… not for his job with the police or for his research as an anthropologist.

"So, you changed your mind? I'll admit that I'm surprised," Eli said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, well I didn't change my mind as much as I had Jim override me since it's his life," Blair admitted. "And he's right. He can help, and one of the reasons I requested a Sentinel was for help with anthropological research. I think I got trapped by my own logic there."

Eli laughed. "It's good to hear you back to your old self," he said kindly. "And if your time restrictions keep you from joining us, I respect that decision."

"Thank you, Eli."

"I still think you're wrong, but you're going to have to make your own choices. And I'm glad to hear that Mr. Ellison is up to the challenge of dealing with your stubbornness."

"Hey!" Blair objected without actually taking offense. "I am not stubborn. I just stand up for myself."

"In any and all situations, even when it's not particularly warranted," Eli agreed with a laugh. "It's one of the things that makes you such a good scientist; you are never so impressed with someone's credentials that you blindly accept their conclusions. And that includes me."

"Eli," Blair said, not really sure what to say.

"I'm sure that Mr. Ellison and I will get along fine. And you're more than welcome to join us if you reconsider your time restrictions. So, I have today and tomorrow clear on the calendar, and if that doesn't work, we'll have to look at next Thursday."

Instead of answering, Blair just about squealed when a cold wet hand landed on his arm, and the phone fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Fuck!" Blair cursed when he spotted Jim, smiling evilly as he toweled his short hair with one hand while the other still hovered above Blair's arm. "You dick!" Blair complained loudly, reaching out and jabbing at Jim's stomach, but the man danced back away, leaving Blair punching air.

"You might want to get the phone," Jim teasingly laughed as he danced back away from another attempt to poke at him.

"Eli!" Blair gave up on physically retaliating and grabbed the phone from the floor.

"Blair, are you alright?" Eli demanded over the phone, his voice sharp.

"Yeah. I just have a roommate with a bad sense of humor and cold damn hands," Blair said. "He is either feeling particularly sadistic, or he'd rather make the time arrangements with you himself. One or the other. Anyway, I'll check the email for the revisions because I have today, Monday and Tuesday off."

"Still catching up on missed classwork?" Eli asked as Blair tried to ignore the way Jim stood close in jeans and no shirt and all those muscles.

"Yeah, something like that," Blair vaguely agreed. "So, Eli Stoddard, this is Jim Ellison." Blair held the phone out and Jim raised one eyebrow in an expression Blair couldn't quite decipher. He flipped the towel over one shoulder and took the phone.

"Dr. Stoddard," Jim said, and Blair wandered back toward the kitchen.

Unlike Jim, Blair couldn't hear the other end of the conversation.

"No, I heard," Jim quickly said. "I understand Blair's time constraints, but if I can help, I will."

Blair was surprised at the honestly friendly tone from Jim. Usually Jim was a little more… grumpy… with new people. Since he had nothing else to cook, Blair pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator. God, he didn't even have the fixings for an omelet. He had cheese, but adding cheese to eggs wouldn't exactly help their hearts.

"We're working something today, but can I call you later today and let you know if tomorrow works?" Jim asked. Pause. "Blair has your number?" Longer pause. "I'll try, but he's pretty stubborn, you know."

Blair put down the fork he'd been using to scramble the eggs and he crossed his arms. Jim smiled sweetly at him, and somehow, on him that expression looked more smug than sweet.

"I'll call you later tonight, then," Jim said into the phone. "I'm looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Stoddard." Pause. "Eli, then. Please, call me Jim. Mr. Ellison sounds like my father." Pause. Jim laughed. "I'll talk to you later then. Have a good day." Jim clicked the phone off and headed for the kitchen.

"Are you making breakfast?" Jim asked as he put the phone back on the cradle and pulled the towel off his shoulder.

"*I'm* stubborn?"

"Hell, yes," Jim agreed as he came in and grabbed the bowl of eggs Blair had just scrambled. He turned on the burner under the pan and poured the eggs into it.

"Man, I got nothing on you. You are the Grand High Poobah of Stubbornness, Ellison."

"I'm focused-- determined-- goal-oriented. You're stubborn," Jim disagreed. "So, what did you come up with last night?"

Blair hesitated. Last night it had seemed so important, and this morning, he'd woken with a sense of urgency, but now, facing Jim, it seemed a little potentially stupid.

"Chief?" Jim asked, turning his back on the eggs.

"Can we go through the scene again? I just want to double check something."

"Sure. After breakfast?" Jim asked as he gestured toward the egg pan with the spatula he'd picked up.

"Yeah, no problem," Blair agreed as he grabbed for the loaf of bread for toast. He fell silent as they fixed breakfast, and Jim kept shooting him curious looks, but Blair did his best to ignore them. His feelings were raw and he suddenly didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Jim. Desperately didn't want to look like an idiot.

Over breakfast, Blair focused on eating, keeping his mouth full to avoid the nervous babble that threatened to spill out. He didn't think Jim wanted to know what Australian aborigines ate for breakfast. Luckily Jim finished as quickly as he did.

"So, where do you want to sit?" Jim asked as he dropped the two empty plates in the sink. "And fair warning, I've never had that much luck with sensory recall."

"You haven't?" Blair asked, nerves suddenly replaced with curiosity.

"To be fair, I don't have that much luck with memory in general." Jim shrugged. "The couch work or do you want to go upstairs?"

"The couch is fine," Blair agreed. He perched on the arm of the nearby chair while Jim sat and let his head relax and loll back onto the couch. "So, what's so hard about sensory recall?"

"I just don't always recall," Jim shrugged. "If I know I have to recall the information later, I can usually do it."

"Oh man, with your levels, you should be like amazing."

"No one's perfect. I guess this just isn't my thing. So, where do you want to start?" Jim asked.

Blair took a deep breath. He knew exactly what he wanted, but this kind of work sometimes led to false memories if the memory was too guided. "Okay, let's start with when you first knelt on the ground, when you told me to shut up."

Jim tilted his head up to look at Blair for a second, but then he let his head fall back as he tried to pull up the memory.

"Let's start with breathing slowly. I want you to slowly dim your senses. Let the levels all drop. Breathe in. Control your senses. Dial it down. Breathe out." Blair paused. Despite Jim's warning, he was quickly falling into the trancelike state where memory would become reality. Skipping the bit with lowering the levels on each sense separately, Blair moved right to the memory itself.

"Focus on the feel of the grass under your hand as you lean on the ground," Blair coached. He watched as Jim's frown smoothed out.

"There's a twig poking my hand."

"Did you look down at it?"

"No. I'm focusing on the footprints," Jim said, his voice strangely distant. Blair shifted forward and put his hand on Jim's knee to anchor the Sentinel with touch as he cast himself back into his memories.

"Describe the footprints," Blair whispered. For a second, Jim didn't say anything. He kept his eyes closed, but he rolled his head from one side to the other as though considering the scene.

"A woman wearing heels. I can see the crushed blades of grass."

"Let that one go. What other footprints do you see?" Blair prompted, struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Jim tilted his head. "It's like a hologram. When I turn my head, I can see where the bent grass is different; it reflects light differently. I can see the children's footprints. One of the sneakers has a ripped sole."

"Where did they walk?" Blair asked. Jim's hand came off the couch and landed on top of Blair's hand where it rested on Jim's knee. Jim frowned. "You're looking at it right now, this is no big deal," Blair promised. The frown smoothed.

"The one with the ripped sole walked around in a circle. He walked over by the bench."

"He?" Blair asked. The frown returned for a second.

"Raul. His sneakers… one was ripped when I saw him on the Taylor's property. The other kids… most moved to the spot and stood. One of the smaller feet ran. He went…" Jim's words trailed off.

"Hey, that's okay, relax," Blair coached.

"I didn't look at that ground closely enough," Jim admitted tensely, his back going stiff, and for a second, Blair thought the moment had broken without him getting what he wanted… what he needed. Luckily, Jim breathed out and relaxed back into the couch.

"Push those footsteps aside, what else do you see?" Blair asked. Jim's hand over his own tightened, and Jim tilted his head to the side.

"One pair of dress shoes, the man with the limp. Tracks from work boots."

"Okay, focus on the work boots." Blair leaned forward as though he could will Jim to see what he needed Jim to see.

"One or two people. The same boots, but the footsteps are different."

"How?" Blair asked. He watched the furrows appear on Jim's face as the head tilted. "Okay, it's okay. Describe one of the sets of footprints," Blair changed the suggestion when Jim's back started going stiff again.

Jim relaxed into the guidance. "One set. Big man, but walking quickly. The side of his foot is dug in at one point like he's turning too fast. Erratic." Jim started sitting up, and for a moment, Blair was afraid he had lost the memory, but the eyes remained closed and Jim moved as though looking at the ground. "He's moving around the area, pacing."

"Good," Blair praised him, and he was lucky Jim was in a near trance or that would have earned him a head-whap for sure. Right now, Jim was so far into the memory that the hand that gripped Blair's own didn't even twitch. "What about the other work boots? What's different about them?"

Jim frowned. "They're deliberate. They walk to the hill from the curb."

"Where do they go from there?"

Jim shook his head. "Nowhere. I can't see them anywhere," Jim turned his head and got stiff.

"Oh fuck." Jim jerked his hand back and punched the seat of the couch in frustration as the memory broke. "Shit, I told you, I’m not good at this shit."

"Hey, no, you did great!" Blair hurried to assure him, but Jim just gave him a skeptical look. "Hey, you know me with my hypotheses?"

"Yeah?" Jim asked, drawing the word out suspiciously.

"Man, listen to this one. There were workboots there, and that day, you said they were recent."

Jim nodded. "They were. I remember they overlapped the police tracks in several places. They even overlapped the children's prints."

"Awesome, that will give us a time frame, or at least it will as soon as I'm off suspension and can go talk to them because no *way* is Brown getting near them."

"Don't trust him to avoid saying something stupid?" Jim asked. Blair looked over to see Jim watching him with amusement.

"Overprotective, Hispanic mother plus Brown's big mouth. Oh yeah, that'd go over well," Blair snorted as he got up and started pacing the living room. "But listen. If that were a cemetery employee, he would have cleaned up the gifts the kids left. He would have pulled down the last bits of police tape."

"He would have cut the grass," Jim finished. Blair paused in pacing long enough to turn and see Jim looking at him with the beginnings of a smile. "But he didn't do that."

"Which is totally strange. The piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit. You don't think… I don’t know, that I might be reading too much into this?" Blair asked. Nice, now he sounded like an insecure twit needing reassurance. Blair mentally kicked himself.

"Sounds like a lead to me. And Blair, I'm not sure, but I think there was only one guy. The tracks walking up to the hill were steady and regular, but no tracks like that led away from the hill, the tracks going away from the hill were angry, deep heel impression and irregular depth."

"Man. It fits. He comes to see the place, and maybe he's mad that people have turned his special place into theirs by leaving the display."

"He wanted to have a place where it was just him and Kari," Jim agreed. "Or maybe the display scared him. Maybe he thought someone would see him."

Blair shook his head. "Man, he would've just run. But who knows what he's thinking. I just know this is a lead, man. This is a good lead. Fuck, how did I miss that?"

"Hey, I missed it, too," Jim pointed out. Blair smiled at the man's attempt to reassure him.

"Yeah, but you're just a rookie. I'm the experienced cop," Blair teased. Jim reached out and smacked the side of Blair's head. Instead of second guessing what he might have said wrong, Blair just aimed his own hit for Jim's stomach as he went for the phone. Suspension or no suspension, this lead wouldn't wait three days with rain in the forecast.

THIRTY TWO  
***  
"Caro, you are a goddess!" Blair practically bounced out of the car when he spotted the dark-haired woman, and Jim followed, still shocked that the kid had talked them onto a newly reopened crime scene not more than a day after being suspended. But then again, he doubted Banks had time for more than two words over the phone, so he probably just gave up. Jim knew the feeling. After years of working with men who made their points with actions, and sometimes fists, he wasn't always sure how to handle Blair, much less win a fight with him.

"Blair, for giving up part of my weekend, I better be something more than just a goddess. Goddess is for when you want me to rush your DNA samples." The woman gave Blair a look that was half warning and half indulgent amusement.

"Man, you are like Tiamat who created the world. You are Aruru, the mother of all goddesses, and Athena the wise and Inanna the beautiful all wrapped up in one," Blair promised as his hands gestured widely.

"Hmmph. Seems like those are all war goddesses, are you trying to tell me something?" The woman crossed her arms and tilted her head as she considered Blair out of the side of her eye like a hawk about to pounce on a mouse.

"Only that you're even scarier than Sheila in IA, and twice as beautiful."

At that, the woman couldn't keep up the glare any more. She laughed and shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep sweet-talking, especially if you're going to want a rush on the analysis."

Jim walked up behind Blair, and Blair turned that bright smile toward him. "Carolyn, this is Jim Ellison. Jim, Carolyn Plummer, head of our Technical Support Division."

Jim held out his hand, and despite the fact that he had told himself that he would hate Carolyn for flirting with his bond-mate, he could at least appreciate her sharp wit.

"Nice to meet you. So, Simon said that you spotted tracks that we might still be able to get a record of."

"Hopefully," Jim agreed as he looked at the hill. The police tape was back, and a patrol officer stood to one side as a middle aged man with a huge mustache set up a camera.

"John and I are going to take photographs of any treads you can identify."

"Simon's really rolling with this one. Man, if I'm wrong..." Blair started, and Jim felt aggravation at the doubt in Blair's voice.

"Brown and Rafe talked to the owner. He hasn't had any workmen or maintenance men in since last month," Carolyn quickly assured him. "He called in all his employees, and there are only two workmen that ever do grounds work around here. The cemetery itself is full, so most of their business comes from the crematory attached to the back of the mortuary. Brown's interviewing everyone up at the main building."

"Oh man. This could be the clue, the one that finally goes somewhere." Blair's voice had a sort of determined wonder, and that tone settled Jim's nerves.

"Personally, I'm impressed that you could see any prints at all in this mess, Jim," Carolyn offered as she started walking toward the hill, a pile of small rulers on yellow plastic in one hand. "So, just point to the ground, and we're going to try and get some forensic evidence."

Jim paused a half second, hating the fact that he wasn't reliable enough to testify, but that someone who was fully competent had to see the evidence. Hopefully all their fancy cameras and expensive lenses would capture what was so obvious to his eye.

Jim ducked under the police tape and knelt down as he searched for the work boot tracks. Behind him, he could hear Blair muttering about how the killer was going down. Jim felt a flash of guilt as he realized how, for a week, the kid had shoved all that energy into some dark corner because of Jim's bad mood. But that was one more reason to keep him at arm's length. Jim didn't want to hurt Blair any more than he obviously had.

"Here," Jim pointed to a section of grass. Carolyn knelt down behind him and held out a yellow ruler.

"I don't see anything. Can you put this just to the right of the footprint?" she asked. Jim took it and placed the yellow ruler on the grass before spotting the next print and the next one. Carolyn had to go back for more plastic rulers by the time Jim finished marking every footprint. Hopefully the photographer would be able to get scientific proof of at least a few of them.

"Okay, that's it," Jim said as he backed out of the maze he'd created.

Carolyn whistled as she knelt down at the edge of the field and squinted at the grass. "Okay, John, we have our work cut out for us. Let's use a full range of filters and lenses because I don't think this one is going to be easy."

"Not easy? That's an understatement," the photographer complained quietly as he moved in. Jim backed away to let them work.

"Hey, Chief," Jim stretched his neck and blinked to clear his vision.

"Oh man. That's a lot of footprints." Blair was staring at the hill, and Jim glanced over at the field of yellow rulers.

"He paced a lot." Jim shrugged. He'd done what he could, and now he had to hope that Carolyn was as good as Blair seemed to think.

"Brown and Rafe are talking to the employees," Blair said absentmindedly.

"Blair. Chief," Jim called, trying to get Blair attention away from whatever had enthralled him on the hill, and Jim only hoped it wasn't Carolyn's ass as the woman bent over to get a new angle. But then again, Jim should be encouraging that before he and Blair got too close for either of them to back out of this bond.

"Yeah?"

"We're suspended. We need to get out of here before Simon hands us both our asses on a plate," Jim pointed out.

"Oh man, you're right. I just… Man, I hate this."

"Hate what?" Jim asked in confusion as he looked around. The patrol cop just stared into space, clearly bored off his ass, and Carolyn and the photographer were busy clicking away.

"Man, how could I miss that?"

Jim snorted. "Yeah, because you're Superman, so any mistakes on your part are entirely unforgivable."

"That's harsh," Blair said as he poked Jim in the side with an elbow.

"It's called sarcasm, Junior."

"I think I recognized it."

"I don't doubt you do," Jim agreed. "So, let's get out of here before you start brooding. I'll treat you to lunch with some of my newly deposited military loot."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Blair agreed. "Let's just let Brown and Rafe know that we were here."

"No problem," Jim agreed. Blair started toward the main building, and before Jim realized it, he had flung his arm over the shorter man's shoulders. And that left a dilemma. If he left it there… well, Jim could already feel the tendrils of need curling up through his nerves. But if he pulled his arm back, Blair might think Jim was rejecting him again.

Walking past the flat headstones, Jim searched his memories as he watched the curled mop of hair Blair had pulled back into a ponytail.

"I am not your Guide, Sentinel," Incacha had said. Jim ignored him and focused on sharpening his knife.

"You're my companion," Jim had finally answered.

"Yes. But not your Guide." The word he used had a connotation of spiritual or emotional guide, and Jim sighed as he finally looked up from the knife.

"You're the whole tribe's Guide. I am a member of the tribe. Therefore, you are my Guide." Jim frowned, trying to let Incacha know that as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. Incacha just smiled back and slowly shook his head.

"No, I am the tribe's Shaman. I am not a Guide, so I cannot be your Guide."

"You're my bond-mate," Jim snapped. He stood up and started to walk away, but a hand landed on his arm, holding him in place because Jim couldn't fight back against Incacha. He'd never allowed his Sentinel instincts to control any part of him, so even now, months after joining the tribe, he shivered at the gut-level control Incacha had over him.

"I am your bond-mate, but Omili is my mate."

Jim shrugged. That was a familiar ache, one that he could easily live with.

Incacha sighed. "You must find your Guide, Enquiri. You must find one whose heart aches for you just as you ache for them."

"No!" Jim snapped. "That's not the way it is for Sentinels. We bond. And if, as you say, I have to go back if the Army comes, you'll just be handing me over to slavery where they'll force me to bond to someone who doesn't even care about me. But then, maybe you don't care about me either, at least maybe you don't care about me beyond what I can do for the tribe." Jim snarled the words and threw the knife down so that the point sunk deep into the ground, dulling the blade he had just sharpened. Jim had stormed off, and Incacha had not even tried to follow, not that time.

"Hey, Brian!" Blair called out, and Jim slipped out of the memory with a blink.

"Blair. I heard the Cap really landed on you yesterday."

Blair shrugged. "Okay, I might have been a little out of line, and I apologized this morning for that. So, Jim and I are going to head out."

"Yeah, that's right, Hairboy. Given your luck lately, I don't even like being on scene with you," Henri Brown pushed out the doors from the mortuary office, a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. You're the one in hot water with Carolyn, and trust me, I would far rather have Simon pissed at me than Caro!" Blair shot back. Brown laughed.

"You keep telling yourself that. You're going to be answering domestic disputes on Thanksgiving the way you're going."

"You hope because that's the only thing that will save you from doing it," Blair jabbed his finger in the air with a smirk.

Jim took a step forward and pushed Blair behind him.

"Jim?" Blair asked, his voice wary, but Jim just held up a hand for quiet.

"Fuck. He's doing the Sentinel thing," Brown backed away, but Jim took a step in his direction, his senses coming to full alert so that the hairs on the back of his arms stood up.

"Jim, what is it?" Blair asked, a hand landing on Jim's arm and keeping him back when he would have pursued Brown who kept backing up.

"I don't know," Jim admitted.

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "Okay, let's start with sight. Focus on just sight; put the other senses aside for just a second. Does something look wrong with Brown?"

"Hey, I am looking fine, thank you very much," Brown quickly answered, but Jim could see the beads of sweat and the minute twitches as his muscles contracted nervously. However, nothing looked wrong. Jim shook his head.

"Okay, let's move on to sound. Dismiss your sight. Turn it down until you don't notice the details, and then really listen."

Jim followed Blair's directions, letting the world grey out as he focused on each sound. The wind whistled through branches, leaves rubbing against each other loudly. Four heartbeats outside. Six more muffled heartbeats inside. The sound of the shutter on the camera clicking as Carolyn worked. The patrolman's feet shuffling, breathing, quiet curses, cars, a plane far overhead, a squirrel's nails skittering over bark. Jim almost lost himself in it when fingers tightened into his arm and he shook off the sensation of drowning in sound.

"All normal," he said, aggravated.

"Okay, this is a hard one. Smell. Focus on Brown this time. What is bothering you about Henri?"

"Considering what he had for breakfast, you really might not want to do that," Rafe said softly. "I told you to skip the horseradish on those eggs."

"I'll give up horseradish altogether if Jim just cuts out the creepy stuff."

"It's not creepy. Man, this is normal Sentinel behavior, and if you can't be respectful…"

Jim cut off the incipient argument by pulling Blair forward as he walked toward Brown, sniffing the air.

"It's there," Jim said.

"Horseradish. Even I can smell that," Rafe commented, but Jim shook his head.

"What's there?" Blair asked.

Jim frowned, unable to place the odor he could faintly smell clinging to Brown. "Okay, it must have something to do with this case. Focus on the scent and think back to all the places we visited yesterday."

Jim growled as the scent came to him so powerfully that he clutched at Blair to stay upright.

"Jim!"

"Blair? Should we call someone?" Brown asked. Jim narrowed his eyes and stared at the mortuary building.

"Yeah," Jim said, interrupting Blair. "Call Banks. The killer is here."

Not waiting for a reaction, Jim started forward, heading for the door.

"Jim!" hands pulled at him, but for once, Jim ignored them as he simply pulled Blair with him into the building. "Oh man, Jim, come on. You don't want to do this."

"Oh, I so do," Jim countered as he came around the corner into the main waiting room where six people sat around or stood with expressions that ranged from aggravated to bored. Jim cocked his head as he considered them, waiting for his smell to identify the prey. That gave Blair time to get in front of him and stand with his hands on Jim's chest and his feet braced.

"Jim, no way, man. Come on, my mom's friend Jim would so not be doing this," he hissed. Luckily, the kid was short enough that Jim could look right over his head. One of the two workmen sat up.

"What is this?" a man in a suit demanded as he stepped forward. Jim moved toward him, pushing Blair physically back.

"Dan, Dan just get out of his way," a woman suggested as she got up and pressed against one of the walls.

"I will not have some out of control—"

"Button it," Jim snapped as he reached down and grabbed Blair's arm, holding him in place as he sidestepped around his guide, despite Blair's frantic attempts to hold him.

"You. You were at the Taylors. The scent of you was all over the gardener's shed in the back, right where Kari Taylor played," Jim said, his voice low and soft and slow as he moved toward one of the workmen. The man was middle aged, his face heavily lined and leathery and his body lumpy with hard-earned muscle and fat. The other worker quickly stood and backed away, and Jim dismissed him.

"Damn it, Jim!" Fingers grabbed at Jim's belt, dragging him back, and Jim slowed as Blair's weight dragged at him again.

"Hey, I don't know what you're…" The worker stood, an unconcerned expression on his face. However, mid-word he turned and bolted through an arch to a hallway on the far side of the room.

Jim tried to follow, but Blair was all but plastered onto him now, and the killer was fleeing. Jim tried pulling Blair off, peeling him arms away like the skin of a banana, but the man clung like a monkey, and hissed as Jim's increasingly frantic attempts aggravated his sore shoulders.

"Blair," Jim growled a warning.

"Not happening," Blair snapped right back.

Unable to see any other way, Jim reached up and pressed his thumb into the baroreceptor in Blair's carotid artery, carefully checking to make sure he only pressed the artery and didn't damage it. Immediately, Blair's grip loosened, and one hand let go altogether to grab at Jim's wrist. Jim held it for a second longer, until Blair looked slightly dazed, and then he pulled himself away from Blair.

"Stay here!" Jim called as he started down the hallway, the stench of fear in the air hanging heavy, like a trail of neon breadcrumbs that Jim could follow to the prize. Jim slammed out a door into the chilly air, afraid the trail would lead toward the parking lot. Instead it angled back toward the trees guarding the rear of the cemetery.

"Brown!" Jim bellowed as he took off running. Blair had given the suspect just enough of a head start that Jim couldn't see him, but he could smell the sour fear and hear the racing heart and see where feet had crushed the grass. People were running behind him, but Jim ignored those voices as he heard rusted hinges creak open.

"Shit," Jim cursed, realizing the killer had some sort of shelter. The minute Jim reached the trees, he could see the wood shed on the far side of a dirty creek, and smell the gun oil.

Charging across the stream, Jim jerked the rough door open just as the suspect put the gun to his own head.

"Oh no you don't," Jim snapped as he threw himself forward, tackling the man so they both crashed to the ground. Rakes and hoses fell over them as Jim pointed the gun to the ground a scant second before it went off with a deafening boom. Temporarily stunned by the noise, Jim loosened his grip, and the killer squirmed back, away from Jim and the tangle of hoses and equipment.

Before he could get more than a foot, Jim reached out and grabbed the gun arm, slamming it into the rotting wood floor over and over until finally the gun dropped out of his numb fingers. Only then did Jim stand up, dragging the now-crying man with him.

"You are not killing yourself on my watch. You can damn well go to jail and pay for what you did." Jim came out into the light, draped with landscaping equipment and pulling the man who now babbled softly in Spanish.

"Jim?" Brown asked weakly. Jim looked up to see Brown and Rafe and Carolyn Plummer, all with their guns drawn, but the weapons pointed to the ground.

"I don't get paid to do paperwork. He's all yours," Jim warned Brown. The man had time to put his gun away and pull out handcuffs before Jim shoved the suspect his way.

"I didn't mean to kill her. She was so beautiful. An angel," he babbled even as Brown started reading him his rights.

"Jim, you okay?" Carolyn asked as Jim started pulling the hoses off him, dropping the coils to the ground before he stepped clear.

"Fine. I recognized the smell from the Taylor place. He must work in both places, which is why he brought Kari here."

Brown and Rafe just looked at him incredulously before pulling the suspect away. Carolyn holstered her gun, but she continued to stand there, blinking silently as Blair finally showed up, pale and not running very fast, but managing a good trot.

"Stay there?" he demanded as he came up, and without warning, he punched Jim's arm hard enough to actually sting.

"Ow," Jim complained as he frowned. "Nice, I catch the bad guy and you hit me."

"STAY THERE?!" Blair demanded loudly.

"With two sprained shoulders, low blood pressure, and a bloodstream full of pain killers, yeah, stay there," Jim said reasonably as he crossed his arms and glared down at Blair, daring him to argue with that logic.

"And what fucking gun were you going to use to protect yourself?" Blair demanded, his face quickly turning from white to a bright shade of red.

"I should… you know, collect some evidence. We don't want this one squirming away," Carolyn excused herself as she backed away.

"Blair," Jim said softer once they were alone. He reached out to rest his hand on Blair's shoulder, but Blair stepped back, his body still tight with anger, and that was not good for muscles still trying to heal from the damage Kincaid had inflicted.

"Don't you 'Blair' me. You went running off after a fucking killer. You fucking disabled me so you could go running off after a fucking killer, you fucking asshole."

"I couldn't let him get away," Jim said calmly, well aware that Blair's panic was enough for both of them. He refused to allow his own instincts to react to the sharp smell of Blair's adrenaline in the air. His nose itched, and Jim took a deep breath, cataloguing the new scents leaking from Blair.

"Henri and Brian were right out front. You could have fucking sent them in. No, you have to go charging in and then you have to go charging out after him, you fucking… I need a bigger word than fucking. I need something that encompasses just how incredibly, overwhelmingly, pig-headedly—"

"Chief," Jim called, holding up a hand to stop the tirade which he could see building to epic proportions. "You're right, I should have waited for Brown and Rafe to get in place. But other than that, I did what I had to do."

"You fucking disabled me. I would have backed you up if you hadn't pulled some fucking Vulcan neck thing."

"Pressure points," Jim said quietly. "It just dropped your blood pressure a bit. I needed to catch him, and I couldn't get you off me without hurting your shoulders."

"Just dropped my blood pressure. Just… Ellison, I don't even have words. You could have died."

"I didn't," Jim said quietly. "Okay, I fucked up today, rushing in instead of working with the team. How is that different from what you did yesterday?"

"Yesterday? Is this about proving some point? What? I scare the shit out of you, so you do it in return?" Blair dropped his hands to his side, staring at Jim blankly, his heart still pounding. Jim could hear police cars pull up, Banks shouting for information.

"Blair, we both sometimes act without thinking. You tried to stop me, and I was desperate to catch the guy."

"What if he'd killed you?" Blair asked again, and Jim could practically smell the fury turn to fear.

"He didn't. I'm not that easy to kill; ask Manuel Noriega."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," Blair said, his voice now shaky with emotion. "That's really one thing more than I can handle at this point. Why did I have to get the covert ops Sentinel with the Superman complex?" Blair asked the sky. Jim tried reaching out again, resting his hand on Blair's shoulder, and this time, Blair didn't retreat.

"Man, if you ever leave me behind again, I am putting hot sauce in your underwear," Blair threatened as he inched forward.

"Do it, and you'll be bald the minute you fall asleep," Jim threatened right back as he pulled Blair to his chest and wrapped his arms around his Guide. He was so screwed. The blind panic in Blair's eyes, Jim had seen that same expression in the mirror when his 'rescuers' had dumped him in the brig. He knew that special sour stench of blind terror and desperation and loss still clinging to Blair. For months after he lost Incacha, he'd smell it in his sheets every morning when he got up.

"It's okay, Blair. We'll figure it out," he promised, not willing to even tell his Guide just how much they had to figure out. For one second, Jim indulged in a fantasy—not of dragging Blair off to Canada but of dragging him to Incacha because Jim sure didn't know what the hell they were supposed to do now. Blair's arms reached around his waist, and Jim tightened his hold and allowed his cheek to rest on the top of his Guide's head. Oh yeah, he was screwed; he just couldn't bring himself to care at that exact moment.

THIRTY THREE  
***  
"Oh man, I warned you, radioactive kittens, man. Boom. Wow… Simon was just about to burst a blood vessel."

"I was there; I saw it," Jim pointed out . "Personally, I think he was more angry about you hiding the physical pain you've been suffering than anything else."

Blair waved that comment away with a dismissive hand as he headed into the loft. "The doctor cleared me, we had his permission to be on scene, and we weren't trying to do anything more subversive or dangerous than tell Brown we were taking off. We're totally in the clear. But, man. Finally! We nailed him. Okay, you nailed him which, when I think about it, is even better."

Blair circled the room, a hyper sprite flitting from place to place. "Man, the next time Brown gets all pissy about you doing your Sentinel thing, I am so rubbing his nose in the fact that you used less force than he generally does when he makes his arrests." Blair spun to face Jim. "This one time, he was chasing down this gang member who had done a drive-by shooting that killed a three-year old, and he tackled the guy right into a dumpster which, you know, happens, but then he managed to drop him in the gutter and hit the suspect's head on the top of the car when he was putting him in. Man, I thought Simon was going to blow a whole lot of blood vessels that day."

"Chief," Jim interrupted, because right now it seemed like Blair might just keep going and going and going.

"And Herrera using two *different* fake ID's to get work…."

"Yeah, I get it, Junior," Jim tried jumping in. He was struggling with the words to start the conversation they needed to have, but Blair just kept talking so much that Jim couldn't quite get his thoughts together. Jim chickened-out and went for the easier conversation: the one about the case. "I get that there really wasn't a way to connect him to both scenes. I just think the Taylors are going to feel guilty for a long time. Hiring illegals… hell, hiring anyone without a background check and reliable identification…."

"Totally stupid, yeah," Blair finished the thought for him. "But we caught him. He was so sure he was in the clear." Blair jerked his fist, a sign of hard-earned victory, as he circled the living room couch again, this time with a half bounce. "No *way* he thought we'd connect him. And if you hadn't been there--. Oh man, he could have gotten away with it."

"Blair," Jim tried again. This time his Guide actually stopped and looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"We need to talk."

That stopped Blair. He froze near the end of the couch and stared at Jim for a second. "Okay, you have that tone like Karen Lowinski had right before she told me I was too short for her," Blair said with a weak laugh and a shrug, but the energy drained from him. His hands hung at his sides.

Jim snorted. "This is more the picking out the rings conversation," he admitted. Blair blinked, frowned, and blinked again.

"Uh… what?"

"Just… let me try and get through this," Jim practically begged as he stepped forward and put his hands on Blair's shoulders. He guided Blair over to the couch, and Blair sank down, his face still wary. Pushing aside a stack of anthropology magazines, Jim sat on the chest they used as a coffee table and rested his hands on Blair's knees.

"Jim?" Blair asked uncertainly.

"You thought I didn't want you to back me up, that I didn't trust you," Jim said, making a guess based on the distress he'd smelled on Blair at the scene.

"Okay, when you use the covert-Vulcan neck pinch thing, it kinda gives a guy the impression that you don't want him tagging along. It was a reasonable assumption. You didn't want me hurt; you did something you so should not have done. Now can we skip round four of this same old conversation?"

"Blair, I do trust you to back me up," Jim said seriously, looking straight at Blair to try and emphasize just how much he meant that. Blair's injuries might have concerned Jim, just like he had told Simon on scene, but he trusted Blair.

Blair bit his lip and then seemed to brace himself. He looked away, but his heart pounded out a fast rhythm that told Jim he was paying attention. Jim tightened his grip on Blair's legs, leaning in.

"Blair?" Jim asked.

"Why?"

The question startled Jim. "What?"

"Man, I get why you might not want me to back you up because you're covert ops Ranger guy, and I'm the one who barely passed hand-to-hand combat in the Academy. Okay, the trainer said I was impressive at fighting dirty and getting in a low blow or two, but…" Blair shrugged.

"Blair, I would rather have you at my back than the trigger-happy kids I led in the Army. You think first, and that's always the best backup."

This time it was Blair's turn to snort. "Yeah, like I was thinking when I went in after Dessy?"

Jim leaned back. "Part of that is my fault. I only needed you to stay for a minute or two while I centered on the room, but I didn't tell you that. But when I think about how you handled me in that airport—that showed some serious balls and a lot of clear-thinking, especially since you knew about…" Jim stopped, the memory of neck bones snapping under his hand stealing the word.

"Hey, not your fault." Blair quickly slipped into support mode and sat up, ready to escape the couch and end the conversation. Yep, the kid knew Jim had something serious to say, he just didn't want to hear it.

"Chief," Jim sighed.

"Okay, fine. Look, whatever this is, just say it before I have a heart attack, okay?" Blair practically begged, his hands coming to rest on top of Jim's hands. "You're really freaking me out here, and after hours of paperwork and Mount St. Simon, I'm really too tired for a panic attack right now."

"You know the Institute is wrong about most things Sentinel, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I think we established that. The whole idea of Sentinels having no control? I would have given anything to have Wendy there with her camera when you took Herrera down. Talk about shaking up a world view or two. And that would have been a much better exclusive than Simon putting Herrera in the car in handcuffs."

"And they're wrong about bonding?" Jim prompted.

Now Blair frowned, tilting his head at Jim as he obviously tried to figure out what was coming next. "Yeah," he said slowly.

"And they're wrong about guardians."

"Well, yeah, I get that. The whole 'guardians' thing is way out of line. Man, you told me that in no uncertain terms the very first day you came here. I think back on what a schmuck I was, and I want to whap myself upside the head," Blair laughed. "Sentinels don't need guardians… or at least their need for a guardian is no more than anyone else, because the learned helplessness of the whole system—man, that can seriously fuck with a person's head."

Jim started to open his mouth, and Blair held out his hand to stop him. "Hey, I know that you do not like hearing this, but some Sentinels, the ones who have been raised to believe they can't control themselves, they still totally need guardians. Control is a learned behavior, and the whole system conspires against them. But when it comes to Sentinels who show control, like you, I'm with you, man. You need a companion and not a guardian. Check."

"Shit. Can I get a word in here?" Jim demanded as he exploded up from the coffee table and paced to the window.

"Jim?"

"Guides bond too," Jim announced, his eyes firmly focused out at the sky.

"The what do what?"

"Guides," Jim started again. "Incacha said I couldn't stay with him." Jim paused, and suddenly a warm hand rested on his back, Blair silently pressing, silently offering support. Jim smiled as he smelled the aggression on Blair. While he appreciated the fact that Blair cared enough about him to get pissed, the pain of losing Incacha wasn't more than a dull memory now. "Incacha said that while he could be my bond-mate, he couldn't be my Guide." Jim stopped, struggling to put his ideas into order, especially when he suspected Blair wasn't going to like them much.

"What's a Guide?" Blair asked in the silence.

Jim laughed darkly. "Damned if I know. Incacha said that some souls, they are pulled towards a Sentinel on the spirit plane."

"You mean like the mystical stuff?" Blair asked. Stuff. Jim took a deep breath and firmly ordered himself not to talk about the panther that had led him to Blair. One major paradigm-shifting disaster at a time.

"He said that a Sentinel could bond to anyone, but that a Guide would complete the bond. He said I couldn't stay with him because I needed to find my Guide. He said my Guide needed to bond to me as badly as I needed to bond to him."

"So, you're looking for a Guide?"

"I found a Guide," Jim sighed as he focused on the dark leading edge of a flat-bottomed cloud that threatened rain. He hadn't particularly wanted a Guide, but he had found one anyway. And now he had choices that were even more complicated than before.

"Whoa, you're losing me here, Jim."

Slowly, Jim turned around to find Blair staring up at him in confusion. Jim allowed himself to reach out and brush his hand against Blair's cheek before resting it on his shoulder. "Hey," Blair offered softly, "Whatever this is, man, we'll, you know, be okay."

"Blair, when you thought I didn't want your backup, how did you feel?"

"Not my best moment," he admitted, shrugging self-consciously and looking down.

"You smelled like a Sentinel whose bond is breaking," Jim said quietly. Blair's eyes snapped up to him.

"What?"

"You thought I'd rejected you, and you put out this scent… I've smelled it before."

It took Blair a second of blinking before he could come up with a response, but the slow smirk was not the reaction Jim had wanted. "Oh buddy, you *so* hit your head today, didn't you?" Blair huffed.

"Blair."

"Way out in left field." And the hand gestures were back.

"I know the smell," Jim said firmly. "I smelled it every morning I woke up grieving for Incacha and ordering myself not to turn south and try and run for Peru. I smelled it on Ursula, this Sentinel who they brought back to the Institute after her guardian died. Even after she was out of isolation, every once in a while one of the kids in there would thoughtlessly bring up bonding, and she got that same smell. That's what you smelled like."

Blair was shaking his head now. "Jim, I don't know what you smelled, but that's impossible."

"Blair, there was something between us, right from that moment at the airport. I know I started feeling pulled toward you the first time I was here, when I thought you were just trying to help me."

"Jim, you're a Sentinel. Look, I don't know whether you hit your head really hard or if Incacha had smoked some interesting greenery before coming up with this theory, but Jim, come on, do you know what this sounds like?" Blair reached up and rested his hand on Jim's arm as though to soften the blow, but Jim could feel the frown start even as he ordered himself to deal with the denial calmly.

"No stranger than saying that I have instinctive behaviors that influence my decision making," he commented. Blair at least had the grace to flinch away from that.

"Hey, I hear you. But don't you see? You're totally projecting here. You're frustrated and so to make yourself normal again, you invent this whole thing no one else has ever heard of and now everyone bonds and you're normal again. Jim, I hear you. I totally get how you could…"

"Can it," Jim snapped. "I'm not saying that everyone bonds. If everyone bonded, I would have stayed with Incacha, even if I was second to his wife for the rest of my life, even if I slept in a corner of their hut until I was so old my knees wouldn't bend any more. Incacha said that most Sentinels have only a bond-mate, someone they bond to. But he said he had a vision where I found my Guide, and that my Guide would bond in return."

"A vision?" Blair asked. Jim pressed his lips together and counted backward from a hundred as he struggled with his temper.

"Okay, Freud would call that a subconscious desire being expressed, so I'm all in favor of visions. Perfectly mentally healthy. Naomi goes on that whole vision quest thing all the time, man. I don't think she's had an actual vision yet, but I can respect the holistic mental health approach here."

"Chief, you're talking yourself into one serious whap on the head," Jim warned as he turned away and leaned against the brick wall, focusing on the building's chill to keep him from exploding. "You were in distress because you thought I rejected you. I could smell that. And now that I see what you're like when I'm not acting like an asshole, I think you've been in bond distress for the last week or so. You said it yourself, you nearly killed the damn plant."

"Hey, just a little clinical depression, and I have been in therapy since I was old enough to talk, so that's not exactly evidence of anything, and Spidey's going to be fine. Back when I was a TA at Rainier, he had a near death experience every semester when students turned in their finals."

Jim could hear Blair cross the living room and sit down heavily on the couch. Silence filled the room, or at least a Sentinel version of silence. The heater made the building vibrate softly, water flowed through pipes to one of the other apartments, and a plane engine dully roared overhead, oddly out of sync with Blair's heartbeat.

"I know what I smelled. And I know I caused it, both today and during my week of impersonating an asshole. I didn't understand," Jim said quietly, feeling his way around the apology. He could throw out words like "sorry" easily enough, but now—knowing that he had caused Blair the ripping pain of a strained bond—he found he just couldn't say the words. He meant them too much. Jim floundered with that bit of illogic.

"Jim," Blair said slowly. Then he burst up from the couch so fast that Jim spun, his senses thrown out in search of the intruder.

"Ketosis!" Blair shouted as he headed for the bathroom.

"Blair?" Jim followed, hearing the sound of Blair digging through the medicine cabinet, and flinching at the sound of most of their stuff getting strewn around the small room. "Hey, let's not trash the place," Jim suggested as he reached the open door and found himself faced with the full force of Hurricane Sandburg leaving a trail of debris in his wake.

"Ketosis!" Blair repeated triumphantly, holding up a small box of medical supplies. His fingers worked first the cardboard and then the little plastic bottle as he talked. "If you're right, which you so totally are not, then my body has to be in ketosis from the prolonged stress. Purple strip, I'm feeling a stressed bond, either that or I have a serious-ass medical condition, but that's not likely. Man, you should see the physical they make you go through to become a cop."

"Blair, I never said you'd have the same metabolic reaction."

"Oh yeah, keep on backpedaling, Ellison," Blair said as he unzipped his pants and aimed at the toilet. Dipping a strip into the yellow stream, Blair started counting. "One thousand one… one thousand two… one thousand three…"

Blair stopped peeing at one thousand nine. He stopped counting at one thousand eleven. By then, the beige strip had turned such a dark shade of purple that Jim felt a little worried and a lot guilty. The kid's body was throwing out ketones like a starving man, and Jim carried the blame for that. He'd had Blair so convinced that he wanted to break the bond that his Guide had suffered the pain of a stressed bond.

"Fuck," Blair breathed as he looked down at the incriminating strip with a drop of yellow clinging to the edge.

"Why don't you wash up, and I can fix us some hamburgers," Jim suggested quietly, backing away from the door. He waited for a second in the hall, seeing if Blair would object to his leaving or want the privacy, but Blair just stared down at the incriminating strip. Jim nodded and headed for the kitchen. He'd just upended the man's universe, the least he could do was give him the illusion of privacy.

"Double fuck with icing," Blair said softly as Jim reached the kitchen.

Jim could relate with that sentiment. Maybe it was being in the same city, but he couldn't escape the memory of his father's birds and bees and Sentinels talk with him. He'd walked away from the football field with his knees trembling, looking at every bush as though there were some guardian ready to spring out and rape him right then.

It had taken years before Jim trusted a single thought or impulse he had. If he wanted ice cream, he'd wonder to himself whether he wanted it because he liked ice cream or if it was some weird Sentinel thing. Of course, he was handicapped by the fact that his father made sure that Jim couldn't research Sentinels in any way, shape, or form, so Jim didn't know if Sentinels had a weird ice cream thing.

And his father would reinforce that fear, constantly suggesting that Jim couldn't make a single decision independent from his Sentinel instincts. If he rushed to Stevie's defense against that idiot Aaron, his father would demand to know if Jim was trying to out himself as the watchman of his tribe. His father had tried to drive as many wedges between Jim and Steven as he could. Looking back, Jim wondered how many of those games Steven was in on, and how many times Steven was just another victim.

"Fucking… I really need a bigger word," Blair breathed from the bathroom, the toilet seat making a creaking noise as Blair sat down. Jim focused on the meat as he let Blair take some time to get his thoughts back together. It was hard to learn that your decisions weren't totally your own, that you had some drive sunk deep into your brain that was just as strong as another man's urge to breathe.

"Well, fuck," Blair sighed. Jim understood just what the kid was thinking. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to help.

THIRTY FOUR  
***  
Jim silently ate his cheeseburger, watching as Blair picked at the salad. He was particularly interested in rolling the small tomato over the pile of greens and then herding it back again with his fork.

If only Jim had the magic words to make this easier, he'd use them, but he didn't. Hopefully a little incense and some drum music would get Blair back on track a little quicker than Jim's own tortuous path to accepting not only his senses but his instincts. Okay, he only sometimes accepted his instincts, but he had learned to appreciate his senses. Blair glanced up at Jim again before shoving a fry in his mouth.

"Well, aren't you going to say it?" Blair asked, breaking the long silence.

"Say what?"

"Oh man, I can think of any number of things you could say."

"So, why don't you say them for me?" Jim asked, curious as to where exactly Blair was going.

"I'm thinking you'd start with 'what's good for the goose is good for the gander,'" Blair said, thunking his fork down on the table.

"Blair," Jim said softly.

"I am like this world-class schmuck because I never got it. I mean, I've studied Sentinels for how many years, and I just never got it, you know? Not in the gut. Not really." Blair pushed his plate with his half-eaten cheeseburger away so he could rest his elbows on the table. "Realizing that someone else has this key that fits your emotions, man, this is…"

"It's hard."

"I mean, I spent all that time telling you to stop denying your instincts."

"You didn't exactly say that," Jim objected.

"Oh, I thought it. I totally thought it. And now… it's not just instinct, that's not why I like you," Blair explained in halting words.

"I know. Instinctively, I'm pulled toward you, but that doesn't change the fact that I respect who you are and what you've done," Jim agreed.

"And then there's me making fun of you and Incacha, not that I feel sorry about making fun of Incacha after what he put you through, but I was way out of line with the comment about you getting hit in the head. But despite the whole out of line thing, I still feel a need to slug Incacha." Blair stopped suddenly, a sour expression flitting across his face.

Jim sighed, practically able to hear the fears in Blair's brain. "Your anger is all yours, Blair. Maybe if Incacha were right here you might feel some sort of instinctive competitiveness since he was my first bond-mate, but he's thousands of miles away, so any feelings you have are just you."

"Wow, you've got your telepathy tuned in today," Blair gave a strained laugh.

"I've been there. And you're too tough to let this throw you for long." Jim hadn't finished his burger, but he pushed his own plate aside and focused on his Guide. His Guide. A little part of Jim had always though Incacha had made up that story and that vision just to get rid of the crazy Sentinel who had pushed into the Shaman's life and home. Maybe not.

"Should we tell someone?" Blair asked uncertainly. Jim thought about that. Yeah, the scientist in Blair probably wanted to confirm the results and write a paper and give a lecture, but Jim wasn't sure that was the best approach.

"Blair, if society has trouble dealing with Sentinels, who are one quarter of one percent of the population, how do you think they'd deal with someone who seems to be unique?" Jim asked.

Blair stared silently at Jim. Outside a truck laid on its horn and tires screeched, but no crunch of metal followed.

"Nearly three-quarter of a million Sentinels and one me." Blair thought about that for a second. "Canada's sounding good," he sighed.

If Blair were serious, Jim would have done a jig. That just wasn't a serious tone of voice; it was a defeated one. "I don't think anyone is likely to guess your secret identity," Jim pointed out, "but this does change a few things."

"Like you running," Blair quickly concluded.

"I don't know what to do," Jim agreed. "I don't want to hurt you, and now that you're bonded, I know it will hurt more than you can imagine."

"Hey, I already did the stress-ketosis thing, and forewarned is forearmed. I'll stock up on enough anti-depressants to keep an entire jihad cult mellow and happy. But…" Blair stopped.

"You want me to stay." Jim said the words slowly, praying that Blair would disagree because Jim was already fighting every instinct he owned, and leaving when his Guide asked him to stay… Jim could feel a cold dread as he realized he might not have the strength to do that.

"Jim," Blair paused. "Jim, we could make a difference. Yeah, the system is unfair, but we could help change that. If we could change the laws so that you had more freedoms and so that Sentinels didn't have to fight for every privilege… I know it isn't a perfect world." Blair's voice trailed off.

Jim stood up and retreated to his window, the one where he could fill his vision with sky without seeing the sprawl of the city below. "You really think we could change things?" he asked. He just didn't know; he didn't know if that was enough to sacrifice his freedom and he didn't know if they could actually make a difference in a system that had developed over hundreds of years. Even worse right now, he didn't know what it would eventually do to the relationship between him and Blair if he stayed because Blair had asked him to.

"You risked your life to protect the country," Blair said. "Is this really all that different? Man, I promise I will be less of a schmuck now because I totally get how freaky this bond is. We're in this together, equals to the end, man. And if you say we run, then hey, we'll start picking out curtains for a Canadian cabin. But is changing your country really less important than defending it?"

Jim stared out into the sky and felt his mind circling that question. This was one of those cases where Jim couldn't decide how much his instincts or his resentments of his instincts influenced his logic. "You're stubborn, you know that?" Jim finally answered with a question.

"Year of the pig, man: studious and stubborn."

Jim laughed and turned around. "You were born in the year of the pig? I should have guessed." Blair's heart rate made a familiar little jump. Cocking his head, Jim considered Blair, and after a second, Blair started to blush. "Blair?"

"Hey, have you ever heard of 'invasion of privacy'?" Blair asked as he turned and headed back for the kitchen. "I think this is all a little too freaky right now, so we can totally talk about this later. Besides, aren't you supposed to give Eli a call? I mean, helping him identify Sentinels who function outside the system would be like this huge monumental step toward change."

"What are you trying to obfuscate your way out of?" Jim demanded dryly as he followed.

"Okay, fine, I'm not year of the pig, okay?" Blair stopped near the table, rolling his eyes as he grabbed dishes.

"Wait, you lied about your sign? Okay, what difference does that make?" Jim asked. "Virgo, Leo, Year of the Dragon, Year of the Pig—it's all just mumbo jumbo."

"Hey, like Naomi says, the Chinese were making complex astrological observations when the English were still picking fleas out of their beds," Blair jabbed a finger in Jim's direction. Then the indignation dissolved into a shrug. "But yeah, the whole thing probably is a bunch of hooey."

"But hooey your mom believed in." Jim understood how a parent's beliefs just sort of oozed through the cracks and settled in, even when you didn't want them to.

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, she put a lot of stock in it."

"So why lie? Your mom has to know your real birthday."

"Man, do not get her started on that--year of the monkey."

"And?" Jim asked, not sure what that was supposed to mean.

"Enthusiastic, fun-loving, impish, and intelligent."

"That's not sounding like something to hide. Hell, it sounds more accurate than any other horoscope I've heard. I'm a Gemini, but do you see me as someone quick to talk, wishy-washy, and always trying to be the life of the party?" Jim sat on the arm of the couch and waited for an explanation that actually made sense.

"Monkeys also get easily distracted or confused and they have a little problem with morals. They tend to not have many. They aren't evil or anything, but they're more about what works for them than doing what's right. Mom was so sure I was going to be born a rooster with yin influences. She wanted that talent and devotion and steadfastness, and she said that a boy born into a yin influence wouldn't be as ruled by his testosterone. But then I had to get born early and slip in at the tail end of monkey, and do not make that into a pun," Blair warned darkly. "And a yang-influenced monkey to boot."

Jim cringed. Okay, if Naomi had discussed her disappointment in this much detail, the woman had probably left some pretty deep marks.

"Oh Chief."

"Hey, do not go there. Like you said, it's a bunch of hooey, but no way would anyone buy me as a rooster because steadfastness is not my thing, so I just default to year of the pig. Caring, intelligent, occasionally taken advantage of: they make great teachers. I considered going for year of the dog, which is the year after rooster, but I fit "obedient" even worse than I fit "steadfast."

"Blair, you have more morals than anyone else I've worked with," Jim promised. He expected a smile; instead, Blair flinched back, physically retreated behind the table.

Slowly, Blair started shaking his head. "No way. Man, I thought I had ethical standards, but I'm re-evaluating. Part of being an ethical person is putting yourself in someone else's shoes. And man, I didn't do that. I told myself I understood Sentinels, but after this, no fucking way. I was totally lying to myself."

"That doesn't make you unethical. You helped people," Jim said quietly. He was starting to get a little worried about the unpredictable turns this conversation kept taking, but Blair wasn't an immoral man. Jim had seen enough evil in the world to know that for certain.

"Thomas Hardy said it. Don't do the immoral thing for moral reasons. And I may have thought I was doing right, but now… How much of that was fear? Sentinels are like scary, powerful creatures. And how many people did I hurt because I never *really* thought about their side of it. I mean, I went and I did something so totally stupid, even when my mom came and burned sage and had this spiritualist in to help me see the true path."

Jim waited. Blair was still pacing, his hands violently punctuating his words with little jabs into the air, but the distress still radiated.

"Man, I became part of the system. I told myself I wanted to make the world better, but I was playing hero. I wanted to ride to the rescue, and when some traumatized Sentinel would cling to me, I felt like some sort of superman. Fuck." Blair stopped, and Jim could see the tremors in his muscles. "How much of that was the Guide thing?" Blair asked, his eyes finding Jim, as though Jim had some answer.

"How much of what?" Jim asked, not entirely sure he was following Blair's logic simply because Blair's logic seemed to be twisting all out of shape.

"Me wanting to help Sentinels. Me wanting to work with them. The fact that Sentinels would cling to me. How much of that is because I'm a Guide?"

"Chief, don't do this to yourself," Jim begged. "Don't try and rewrite your whole life as nothing more than you following some instinct. You chose to help Sentinels because you're a good person."

"Yeah, well that whole monkey thing is sounding a little more accurate. I was getting what I wanted: I got to play hero." This time, Blair wandered to the window and took up Jim's normal post staring out over the city and toward the sea.

"So, if I felt good saving a village from drug dealers, that makes me a bad person?" Jim asked.

"I'm not talking about you," Blair snapped in frustration, looking back toward Jim before focusing out the window again.

"Oh, you are. You're talking about human nature here, Blair. If you felt good about helping someone who's been abused, that makes you a good person. A bad person would hurt them more."

"Man, knock it off with the emotionally supportive shit. It's freaky. I'm supposed to be the touchy feely one, here." Blair's voice had at least a touch of humor in it now. Feeling the tone shift, Jim got up and stood behind Blair and put his hands on Blair's hips. For the first time, he allowed himself to touch more than a shoulder, to let his hands linger. Blair leaned back into him, and Jim curled his arms around Blair's stomach.

"I can care about you because I care about you. It doesn't have to be some bond," Blair whispered, his hands resting on Jim's own.

"No, it doesn't," Jim quickly agreed.

"Or guilt or some overdeveloped sense of shame for being born in the year of the monkey. I can just like you."

"Yeah, I like to think I'm likeable, most days," Jim said softly. Blair huffed, but he also leaned his head back so that it rested against Jim's shoulder. "Blair, I like you, and the bond—the bond will always be between us, holding us together—but that doesn't change the fact that I like how gutsy you are and how you throw yourself into everything you believe in."

"Is that why you told me to stay behind?" Blair joked weakly.

"I can like you and be your bond-mate without appreciating your habit of hiding your weaknesses, but then some people have told me I'm not perfect either," Jim agreed. "I don't see it myself," he joked.

"You're a neat freak. I can't leave magazines around without you putting them in a neat stack somewhere."

"Hey, I knocked that pile of magazines onto the floor just a few minutes ago," Jim defended himself. "Does it bother you?" he asked as he glanced over his shoulder at the apartment. The first day he'd been here, books had been strewn over the table, magazines had been scattered in one corner of the living room, and dishes had been just sitting on the counter. Now the kitchen was spotless, the magazines usually were in a pile on the coffee table / storage chest, and the books were all neatly tucked into the bookcases covering one wall.

"Nah, it's actually less embarrassing when someone comes over now," Blair dismissed Jim's fear that he was taking over the loft. Fingers slowly stroked Jim's forearms, tracing warm circles on the skin.

"And I *might* have played 'poor me' once or twice," Jim added.

"Yeah, I think you could play it a few hundred times and still be within your rights."

Silence filled the loft as the shadows lengthened and the sky slowly faded from violet with streaks of reds and oranges. Under his fingers, Jim could feel every breath Blair took and hear not only the steady beat of his heart, but the rush of blood through his veins and the rumbles of a stomach that was obviously still upset. Jim tightened his hold.

"We'll be okay," Jim promised softly. When Blair had hung in chains in Kincaid's warehouse, Jim had made a choice: he'd put Blair's safety ahead of his own freedom. Knowing how deeply the depression had taken hold of Blair during the stressed bond and knowing how much pain the man seemed to carry beneath that flippant exterior, Jim could guess what would happen if Jim left. The best case scenario included a nice institution and a lot of quality pharmaceuticals. The worst was something Jim wasn't even willing to consider.

"We'll be okay," he repeated as he made his decision. His Guide wouldn't leave Cascade; he wouldn't leave his Guide. Jim watched the sun sink under the horizon, and he allowed himself to grieve for his lost freedom. His heart aching, he simply clung more tightly to his Guide and let himself sink into the comfort of his Guide's touch tracing figures on his arms.

THIRTY FIVE  
***  
The sound of Blair's cell phone blasting tinny music a couple of inches from his ear yanked Jim out of sleep.

He fumbled at the side table before realizing the sound came from somewhere lower. Cracking open an eye, he grabbed the corner of Blair's pants and pulled them close enough for him to grope in the pocket. The irony of groping Blair's pants without getting to grope Blair rattled around in the back of Jim's brain, but he shoved aside the small part of him that complained at the unfairness and fished out the phone. For a half second, he considered flinging it against the brick wall. With a sigh, Jim flipped it open instead.

"Hello?"

"Uh. Is Sandburg there?" a deep voice on the other end asked.

"Blair," Jim said, prodding the mass currently drooling on his arm. "Blair!"

"Day off," Blair muttered and then he moved in closer, probably so he could drool on Jim's chest.

"It's Simon," Jim said as he poked Blair in the shoulder with the edge of the cell phone.

A bleary, blue eye appeared out from under a mass of tangled curls. "Simon?" Blair pulled his hand up and rubbed his face before taking the phone.

"Simon?" Blair asked, his voice still slurring with sleep. Jim relaxed back into the pillows and let his fingers trace the top of Blair's shoulder. Last night, Blair had accepted the invitation to sleep with an awkward shyness that didn't quite match Jim's image of the man. He'd laid in bed stiff until he had finally fallen asleep and reverted into a heat-seeking octopus that pressed closely to Jim's side. Jim half expected an awake Blair to flee the bed or at least flee the embrace, but instead he just lay his head on Jim's chest, the phone to his ear.

"I need you two down at the station," Simon immediately announced in a distracted voice. Jim caught the faint sound of paper rustling, and he got the distinct impression that the man was doing something else, something he considered more important.

"We're off suspension?" That perked Blair up. He pushed himself a few inches up from the bed, his free hand braced on Jim's chest, and the casual connection made Jim just want to stretch out like a big cat in the sun. He'd known the awkwardness between them had thrown Blair off, but Jim was starting to suspect that his own moods had suffered some because of the conflict.

Simon snorted in amusement. "No chance. You and Ellison still have two days. I should tack another day onto the end just for talking me into letting you go on-scene with the Taylor case."

"Oh man, you wouldn't."

"I would. At least, I would if we weren't already short-handed. I just need you to come in and go over your statements one more time."

"Why?" Blair asked suspiciously. He started sitting up and discovered his legs tangled with Jim's. When a knee brushed Jim's cock, Blair blushed and pulled away. Jim could smell desire, but he could also see the individual capillaries in his face swell with blood as embarrassment overrode the desire.

"You aren't going to like it," Simon warned, and Blair frowned as he rolled away from Jim. "Aldo wants to go over the statements. Actually, he wanted me to call you two in last night, but that…" Simon's voice started to rise in aggravation, but then he took a deep breath. "Aldo does not dictate how I run my department," he finished calmly.

"When is this asshole going to get a clue? Man, we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing. And legally, Jim could have given that killer a few good hits, so we're looking like saints all around. Aldo has zippidy doo-dah to complain about."

"Yeah, come tell him that so he gets his ass out of my department," Simon suggested.

"I just woke up," Blair said as he sat up at the edge of the bed. Jim reached over and used a single finger to trace the hairs on the back of Blair's arm. The desire and the embarrassment both intensified.

"Yeah, I gathered. Just get down here as soon as you can, preferably within the hour."

"I'll try my best."

"Don't try, do. I don't want you avoiding him so I have to put up with his attitude." Simon sounded gruff, but then he sighed. "Look, Blair, a lot of people are starting to whisper that Aldo is going too far. Just hang in there a little longer, and even his captain will have to admit that this is a personal vendetta."

"Great. So I can look forward to a morning of Asshole Aldo."

"Yeah, just do your own asshole impression right back at him; you have it down pat." Without waiting for an answer, Simon hung up the phone and Blair flipped his phone shut.

"Too fucking early," Blair mumbled as he rubbed his face again.

"I'm getting lazy, I used to be up at dawn every morning," Jim mused. He stretched his senses so that he could hear the traffic on the street and the sounds of the bakery below them.

"Man, and you call me weird?" Blair was silent for so long that Jim started worrying. He sat up behind Blair and gently fingered a soft curl.

"Blair?"

"Thanks for letting me sleep up here," Blair nearly whispered.

"It's a nice way to wake up," Jim answered.

"Yeah, well after I got pushy with you over sex the other day, I'm just glad you trusted me to share the bed. I was way out of line."

"It's fine, Chief."

"You were trying to keep me from bonding, weren't you?" Blair asked. Jim paused, his fingers resting against Blair's back as he tried to figure out what to say. The worst part was that he didn't know what Blair wanted or needed to hear. Should he say yes, he was trying to prevent the bond and protect Blair? Would Blair feel better if he said no, he had no idea about the bond and it was all Jim's own hang-ups? And worst of all, Jim wasn't quite sure why he had retreated from the offer.

"Maybe," Jim finally said. "I don't know. I didn't want you hurt if things got out of hand, but part of that was just me trying to deal with this." Jim let his hand fall away from Blair's body and rest on the mattress.

"Trying to deal with the fact that you didn't want to stay but you didn't want to leave me?" Blair asked. The voice had a strange tightness to it.

"I don't want to leave you. But a few days ago… there were too many things that needed to be said."

Blair nodded slowly. "And I was ready to jump your bones. Man, when you told me you needed space… I was down there struggling with this incredible need to strip naked and charge up those stairs, and I kept telling myself that assaulting you was so not cool and I was likely to get my skull cracked for pulling a stunt like that."

"I wouldn't hurt you," Jim said quickly. He silently cursed his decision to not smash the phone because the lazy comfort of just holding his Guide was infinitely more enjoyable than this awkward shifting, this struggle to find their balance in a new relationship.

"I know. But if I came running up those stairs stark naked…."

"I would have had sex with you," Jim finished. Blair tilted his head and looked at Jim.

"You would have?"

"Oh, yeah," Jim agreed, drawing the words out as he nodded.

"You mean I could have been having wild monkey sex for the last two days, and I settled for snuggling?" Blair asked with a crooked grin.

"Brat." Jim smiled back, the tension easing. "Besides, you weren't offering wild monkey sex last night."

Blair sat up a little straighter and sat silent for a second. "I would have except…"

"Except it's really strange when you don't know how many of your own feelings you can trust," Jim finished for him.

"Oh man, totally," Blair agreed. "Have you ever… I mean, other than Keith because I really am so not interested in hearing about Keith. Or Incacha. Fuck, I think I'm jealous. Man, this is not good for the karma."

Jim chuckled. "Sometimes I pushed the senses back so far that I would just forget them. There was a girl or two then."

"Just girls?" Blair leaned back on the bed and considered Jim.

"Yeah, Darwin, just girls. The military and an open lifestyle are not a good mix. Just because the regulations allow something does not mean the rank and file soldiers are going to let it slide."

"So are you interested in guys?" Blair frowned, his concern obvious. Jim sat up, smiling as he reached over and curled fingers around the back of Blair's neck and carefully pulled him close enough for a kiss. It was slow. Jim mapped Blair's mouth with his lips, feeling them slowly open to him. Using a tongue, he slipped into Blair, tasting, touching, feeling the body heat slowly rise as the scent of desire curled around them in wisps that clung to their skin.

Jim pulled back and Blair sat, his eyes closed and his mouth still slightly open. "I'm interested in you," Jim answered.

"Okay. Wow," Blair breathed, his eyes coming open. "And now you want me to go to work?"

Jim considered that. His timing probably could have been better. He shrugged.

"Oh man. I cannot believe I have to get out of bed after a kiss like that. As a man, I never turn down an offer of sex. Well, except for Susan Karalla who bordered on…" Blair whistled and made a loony-toons circle with his finger near his head. "What a nutcase." He paused. "But Simon will have us doing traffic if we're late, and somehow I don't think we want a quickie. Of course, it could be over quick. It could be over embarrassingly quick," Blair said wryly as he shifted, pulling at his boxers where Jim could see an impressive erection pressing against the fabric.

"If it was over quick, I'd just start over from the beginning and keep going," Jim said as he felt his own cock ache in response.

"Officially not helping," Blair complained. "Fuck, I have to get out of this bed now or I'm going to be so late that Simon is going to have me directing traffic at the go-cart races."

"Go," Jim said, using his foot to give Blair a little shove.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going under protest; I want that on the record," Blair said as he pushed himself up and padding toward the stairs in boxers and his undershirt.

"Noted." Jim agreed. "And Blair?"

Blair paused on the top step, looking back.

"Maybe this afternoon after I get back from working with Eli we could see where things go."

"It's a date," Blair said with a smile. The smile widened into something a little more wicked. "And you know, I'm a big old man-whore with a reputation of putting out on the first date." Blair hurried down the stairs without waiting for an answer, and Jim just shook his head, listening as Blair took care of himself in the shower, crying out when he came.

Jim might have to make a few compromises… okay, more than a few… but he'd done that before. What had Blair asked him, whether changing his country was worth the same sacrifices as defending his country. Jim had risked his freedom and his life every time he'd walked into enemy territory. He had no illusions about what the terrorists would have done to him if they had caught him waiting to take his shot at their leader. He was a soldier. Listening to Blair hum in the shower, Jim also had to admit that life certainly promised to have some bright spots as well. Jim reached up and fingered the warm, smooth metal around his neck; he rarely even noticed it any more. Maybe it was time for a new plan.

Jim walked down the hall in front of Blair. The man trailed behind, explaining to some uniform from Traffic how the tribesman of Whatchamacallit made up with their wives after screwing up. Jim somehow doubted that making a mash of insects or using body paint was going to get this guy back in his wife's good graces.

"Yeah, but…" the red-haired victim of Blair's lecture tried to interrupt.

"Don't you get it?" Blair asked. "Come on. Do something that's really hard for you. Yeah, the mashed ants might not be her thing. But man, find something that hard. Do something tedious or unpleasant. Do something she likes."

"Maybe take her to the ballet?" the guy said uncertainly.

"Cool! Hey, if she likes ballet, definitely. And that's totally in line with rule number two. Make it public. If you can't paint yourself red, do something her coworkers will see. Send flowers. Embarrass her by delivering a gourmet lunch. Man, human nature never changes. She'll eat it up."

"I could take flowers and tickets over to the school after work."

"Totally. Man, you're off the couch already," Blair encouraged him.

"Thanks Blair, you're a lifesaver."

Jim stopped at the door to Major Crimes and glanced back at Blair. "Ants and red paint?" he asked.

"Hey, symbolism. It's all about the symbolism."

"Sure it is, Dr. Ruth," Jim laughed as he pushed through the doors into the bull pen. He wasn't surprised to find Detective Aldo sitting on the edge of his desk, flipping through some file. Jim made a mental note to disinfect that corner of his desk later.

"Aldo. What rock did you crawl out from under?" Blair asked with a false cheerfulness as he came around Jim. He had his arms crossed as he stopped a few feet away from the IA detective.

"Original, Sandburg. Original and biting in its sarcastic wit."

Jim stiffened. The man was just a little too cheerful, and anything that made Aldo cheerful made Jim's skin crawl.

"Look, let's just get this interview over because being this close to you is making my skin crawl."

"Well, there's been a small change in plans," Aldo commented as he went back to looking through the file.

"Good, then I'm out of here," Blair snapped. Jim felt a creeping fear sink into him, and he slid sideways so that he stood close enough to feel Blair's body heat.

Aldo stood up straight. "I have a protective order here." Aldo pulled a paper out of the folder and handed it to Blair as he walked past the pair. Jim ignored the paper, focusing on Aldo as the threat, even as the man walked toward the doors to the bullpen.

"Blair?" Brown asked as he stood and started toward them. Jim glanced over, and Blair had turned white. By the time Jim looked back up, two Institute employees were coming through the doors to Major Crimes. Aldo stood to one side of the doors and watched with a smirk, but Jim didn't focus on that. He found himself watching the white-uniformed SI workers with a despair that bordered on nausea.

"What the hell have you done?" Blair's voice was low and dark and little more than a whisper as he crumpled the paper. "You son of a bitch; what have you done?"

Jim tightened his jaw and allowed himself to reach out for Blair, resting his hand on Blair's back. Jim kept his eyes focused on the shorter of the two Institute employees—the one with the chains.

"I'm getting Simon," Brown said as he headed for the doors, shooting Aldo a withering look as he went.

"No way. No fucking way," Blair hissed, but even though he denied it, everyone in the room knew the truth, which is why Aldo was smirking and why Blair had tremors rolling through his body so that Jim could feel them.

"Sentinel Ellison's involvement in the Taylor case breaks so many regulations that not even you can charm your way out of the consequences of this one. Too bad you seem so fond of him, but they'll find him a guardian who isn't some wanna-be cop." Aldo said with an unctuous concern that made Jim's blood pressure rise.

"Fine. You want to come after me? Then fucking come after me! Come on!" Blair's voice rose to a near screech as he lurched forward. Aldo stepped back in the face of Blair's fury, his head thunking against the wall as he hit it. But Jim caught his companion by the neck and reeled him in before Blair could physically attack the man.

"Do it! Finish your career right here!" Aldo yelled as he stepped forward. Blair twisted and Jim almost lost his grip. Scrambling, he grabbed Blair's arm mid-swing and jerked him back.

"Cool it!" Jim yelled, tightening his grip on Blair's arm and neck as he struggled to control the squirming ball of frustration and fury. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see the SI workers freeze, but he didn't have time for them. He slipped an arm around Blair's waist and physically manhandled Blair into the back corner near their desks.

Blair didn't really fight Jim, he just squirmed and thrashed, forcing Jim to drag him through the maze of desks. A stray leg caught a trash can, sending it skittering across the floor and bouncing off a desk leg.

"What is going on here?" Simon's voice bellowed. Jim ignored the chaos behind him and focused on Blair's pounding heart.

"Breathe, Sandburg. You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"They can't do this!" Blair's impassioned declaration was the logic of a six-year-old, but Jim wished for just one second he could be half as idealistic as Blair. The man expected the world to be fair despite the number of times the universe had gone out of its way to prove otherwise.

Behind them, Simon and Aldo still traded low, angry words, but the Institute employees had finally started moving again, inching closer to the back of the room where Jim still used a hip to keep Sandburg corralled.

As the Institute employees moved toward them, Jim could see the open pain in Blair's eyes. Using the grip he'd maintained around Blair's waist, Jim pulled Blair into an embrace, resting his cheek on Blair's head as silent shudders shook the smaller body.

"They can't do this," Blair repeated softer this time, the words barely breathed and spoken just for Jim. Jim tightened his arms around Blair.

The room had gone silent, and Jim could tell that both Simon and Aldo were gone, although he didn't remember them leaving. Blair's hands finally came up and slid around Jim's waist as he held on with just as much desperation.

"Sentinel Ellison?" a crisp voice called, just a hint of New England under the surface, but Jim ignored it as he breathed Blair-scent and felt his companion's heartbeat echo though his own body.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could live with the damn collar and the slavery if he could have Blair, but there would always be someone like Aldo, something like the Institute waiting in the wings. And Jim couldn't let himself believe that he and Blair would be left alone because life really did just like to take a crap on James Joseph Ellison's head.

"Sentinel Ellison?"

"You can't have him." Blair twisted to the side where he faced off against the two employees while still standing in the circle of Jim's arms.

"Detective Sandburg, this order clearly—"

"Save it," Jim snapped before he focused on Blair, cupping Blair's cheek to force the man to look at him. "Chief, we've only got one chance here, and that's for you to use that silver tongue of yours on the judge. Making a scene here is just going to make it harder to convince the judge that you aren't a total flake."

"Nice, you're insulting me." Blair's voice cracked, and Jim could see the wet brightness in his eyes.

"It's what I do," Jim shrugged.

Blair's arms tightened around his waist as Blair leaned forward and let his cheek rest on Jim's chest.

"God, I'm sorry. It's my fault," Blair muttered.

"Hey, just come and get me back, okay," Jim said quietly, struggling to get Blair to focus on what he needed to do now. What worried him was that the bond between them was still struggling to recover from the strain of earlier, and now Blair trembled with emotion. Jim knew what it felt like when the bond overrode all rational thought, but if Blair allowed that, they were both in serious trouble. Putting his hand under Blair's chin and lifting it, he forced Blair to focus on him.

"Did you break any laws or rules?" Jim asked quietly.

"No way. Man, I was on the side of the angels the whole way," Blair immediately retorted, the truth of his belief clear for any Sentinel to hear.

"Then just come get me, Blair," Jim said quietly. He could see as the rational truth finally sank in past the panic. Slowly, Blair nodded.

"You bet. Man, I'll be there to drive you home," he promised as his arms loosened. The pain hadn't left those eyes, but at least now Blair gazed up at him with determination instead of panic. Now Jim just had to battle his own panic. He turned his head to face the two SI guards.

"Sentinel Ellison, I have an order to remove you from your guardian's custody until a hearing can determine your placement. This separation may be just temporary," the short man offered soothingly. Yeah, soothe the crazy Sentinel—make sure he didn't get too crazy.

"Yeah, yeah," Jim said tiredly as he slowly loosened his grip. For a second, Blair just hung on tighter and then he let go, stepping back reluctantly. "Chief, the hearing has to take place within forty-eight hours, so I'm trusting you to figure out when it is and to show up dressed in your Sunday best." Jim backed up a step, and Jim found himself wishing he had just tucked the kid into the trunk and run for Canada when he could. The man with the chains stepped forward.

"I'll be there, promise," Blair vowed weakly. He swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Jim angled his body toward the Institute employee while keeping his eyes on Blair.

"Hands," the man prompted, and Jim dutifully held out his hands. He refused to watch as steel locked around his wrists, focusing instead on Blair's wide eyes.

The employee took a half step back, and Jim realized that the man was waiting on him. With a sigh, he lifted his arms and hooked the wrist chains behind his head. The employee stepped forward and started bucking the belt around Jim's waist.

Watching the top of the man's head as he locked restraints around Jim's ankles, Jim felt the helplessness curl into his guts like worms burrowing into his skin. He wouldn't be able to clear the chain from behind his neck in time to defend himself, but that was the whole point. They had the power.

The employee pulled the center chain up through the ring in the belt, and Jim slowly brought his hands down so he could lock the end of the center chain to Jim's wrist chain.

"Jim, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Blair said, and Jim could hear the strain.

"Not your fault, Sport," Jim said, already focusing on his Ranger training. The old officer's voice echoed in his head. Never argue with captors. Any argument you start, they'll end because they have the power. You hide whatever power you gain—whether that's a piece of information or a rusty pocketknife.

Jim focused on those remembered bits of advice instead of focusing on the way he had to shuffle, his hands held close to his waist or the way he had already started to sweat under the restraints or the way Blair watched him leave, panic and guilt in his eyes.

THIRTY SIX  
***  
"Eli?" Blair called softly as he stuck his head through the open door. The heavy cherry furniture and large windows with a view of Rainier's manicured lawns were unsubtle reminders of Eli's power both at Rainier and in the larger anthropological community; however, the piles of random papers and journals and dusty books showed just how little he cared.

"Blair?" Eli said as he looked up from his computer. He was a thin man, still holding on to the last of his athletic build, even now when he had to be approaching seventy. "Don't tell me you're here to give me the 'take care of my Sentinel or else' speech. I imagine Captain Ellison would be less than amused by any such gesture," he said with a smile, but the expression quickly faded as Blair came in the room and closed the heavy door.

"Blair?" he asked again, this time pushing back from his computer.

"They took him," Blair answered as he stepped into the room. The despair washed over him, leaving a cold fury behind.

"What? Who?"

"The SI," Blair snapped. "And it's bogus. I mean, this guy at work called them just because he's pissed at me because I busted a buddy of his. But I'm getting Jim back."

"Wait," Eli shook his head and came out from behind his desk. "Blair, if the SI took him, there has to be some sort of charge. Why did they take him?"

"Aldo told them I was putting him in danger. And those idiots came and put chains on him, and that is totally not fair." Blair sighed and let himself lean on the arm of a couch covered in boxes that spewed plastic packing material and tissue paper. "Man, I'm going to make Aldo sorry he ever picked up the phone. Just as soon as I get Jim back, I am so totally coming up with some sort of legal charges or an official complaint or something." Blair reached back and pulled the tie out of his hair so he could run his fingers through it.

"Oh my," Eli said as he shifted and rolled forward in his chair.

"Yeah, hey, I just wanted to let you know that Jim wasn't going to be able to do the whole interview thing today. I'm really sorry."

"I'm not really worried about that," Eli said slowly. Blair looked up and could see the worry on Eli's face.

"Hey, I'm getting him back. You don't have to look all worried because I'm so getting him back."

"Blair." Eli sighed and then stopped.

"What is it?" Blair asked, suddenly worried that there was something even worse going on with Eli, and Blair really wasn't up to much more stress right now.

"Blair, don't take this the wrong way, but have you taken any drugs today?" Eli asked with such a serious expression that for a second Blair could only blink in surprise.

"Have I what?"

"I fully understand stress, but if you…"

"No way," Blair interrupted, holding up a hand to keep Eli from saying anything else. "Man, no way would I risk losing Jim by showing up high. Why would you even think that?"

"I certainly didn't mean to upset you, but your eyes are quite dilated," Eli said quietly as he stood and came to the front of the desk, pushing a pile that threatened to fall closer to the center of the desk as he passed it.

"Oh man." Blair rubbed his hand over his face and retreated to the window where he could watch underclassmen wander the campus. He remembered when he'd first come to the university back when things looked so damn simple. His eyes were dilated. Bond stress. Blair nearly laughed as he considered just how much his world had changed since he was that 16 year old kid who knew everything on his first day of college. He'd been so sure he would have his PhD by 22 and be changing the world by 25. Instead, it seemed like the older he got, the less he knew about anything. Dilated eyes. Yeah, that figured. With his luck, the judge would take one look at Blair and order a drug test.

"If there's some sort of problem, you know I'll help."

"Eli," Blair said helplessly. He took a deep breath as he thought through his options. At the top of the list was eviscerate Aldo. Without him around, Blair would have Jim to talk this through with. Almost immediately, Blair felt that familiar doubt leech into his mind. Since when did he need to discuss his plans with someone else? Blair turned to face the office and leaned back against the cool glass.

"Eli, if I told you something really unbelievable, would you try to keep an open mind?" Blair chewed his lip and watched as Eli considered him in serious silence for a long moment.

"I would certainly try," Eli agreed solemnly as he leaned forward in his chair. "I have a very high opinion of your judgment, so I would at least consider anything you said."

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have such a high opinion of my judgment because it's been pretty wrong for a very long time." Blair took a deep breath. Right. Now or never. He pushed aside a need, like spiders under his skin, to talk to Jim before taking a step like this, especially after they'd agreed that telling people was probably a pretty bad idea.

"When Jim lived with the tribe in Peru, the shaman told him that Sentinels could bond to anyone, but that some people, he called them Guides, actually bond in return."

Blair bit his lip and glanced up at Eli nervously. He really didn't want his mentor to think he'd lost his mind. Much to his surprise, Eli just nodded slowly.

"Burton's manuscript references the companion several times, and the Isandi diary certainly implies the partner has some sort of spiritual connection; however, most modern anthropologists have explained those through simple sexual dynamics. Sexual partners develop feelings for each other, even without the biological imperative of a true bond. However, like I've told you many times, good anthropologists challenge assumptions."

Blair felt the choking fingers of fear loosen as he realized that Eli wasn't just dismissing him.

"Man, this is more than sexual dynamics, especially since I haven't even gotten with the sex yet." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Blair felt himself blush deeply enough to make his whole face hot, but Eli just chuckled.

"Ignoring the sexual comment, do I take it that you see yourself as Captain Ellison's Guide?"

"Man, his stressed Guide. I haven't taken anything, but I imagine if we did some tests, I'd have all sorts of physical bond-stress symptoms. Eli, I sound like a nut, talking about myself having bond-stress when I'm not a Sentinel. Man, if Chancellor Edwards could hear me now, I would so be out on my ear."

Eli shook his head. "The Chancellor is so busy with the politics of the university that she has forgotten that research has any end other than providing an interesting topic for a fund-raising dinner. I'm not worried about her. Now, as for this revelation of yours--let's approach this like the scientists we are. The hypothesis is that Guides are biologically determined and capable of bonding. How do we test this theory of yours?" Eli asked calmly. Blair took a deep breath and allowed himself to see it as a scientific puzzle and not his own very twisted life.

"I did a ketosis test. Man, let's say that the SI would have a Sentinel on some good sedatives with those ketone levels," Blair said wryly.

"You've already tested yourself?" The mild curiosity of a second ago transformed into something more intense. "Proof of a reciprocal bond could open an entirely new field in Sentinel studies. Of course, with a sample of one, the results are little more than an anomaly, but if you truly have formed a secondary bond to a Sentinel, then surely others have as well." Eli stood up and grabbed a notepad off the top of one of the stacks on his desk. "If we sample long-term Sentinel-guardian pairs who have mutually high ratings, we should be able to determine a protocol for testing for a bond and bond strength, probably some variation on the testing done with Sentinels. We may need to publish preliminary work with just your recorded data before we can establish the need for testing."

"Whoa, hey, Eli," Blair interrupted slightly desperate to cut this off at the pass. Eli was actually freaking him out a little. "I'm not okay with that."

Eli blinked at him owlishly, and Blair cringed back from the disappointment he could feel from his mentor.

"Eli, I get it. I know this is big. But right now, I totally need to focus on Sentinels."

"Blair, the truth…"

"Hey, the truth will set you free. Totally. I get that. But the system sucks, Eli. If we prove Guides are biological, the system is going to just broaden out and suck more. My goal is to give Sentinels back their rights—"

"Not give the SI the power to deny another group their rights?" Eli finished. "Not give them power over you?"

Blair stopped and just stared at Eli who stood next to his desk, pen in hand.

"I suck," Blair admitted softly. "I sent how many people into the system? And yeah, it would be total karma if I ended up losing my rights to the SI."

"Blair, no!" Eli dropped the pen and paper on the desk and moved forward, his hand resting on Blair's shoulder. "You have done nothing except act in the best possible manner to protect human life. You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wished to make the point that you have a cause for fear, and fear can lead to irrational choices."

"Oh, I have a lot to apologize for, and I'm trying to atone for that. And yeah, there's fear in there too, but I think the guilt is outweighing the fear." Blair whispered his confession.

"Academic twelve step? You're going to admit you have a problem and then try to make it up to anyone you've affected?" Eli asked with a sad smile. "Blair, you aren't an alcoholic, and you don't have anything to atone for. However, the existence of biological Guides does impact Sentinel studies rather significantly. Have you considered the ramifications of this?"

"You mean the part where I could end up in the SI? Once or twice," Blair admitted. "And then there's the part where I wonder how much of my brain is hardwired because it's kinda freaky knowing that something primitive is pushing your emotional and hormonal buttons."

"Have you considered the impact of Guides on your Sentinel research? Your theory is that the SI is promoting a lack of control by removing responsibility."

"Totally. Man, learned helplessness would account for a wide range of anti-social behaviors seen in Sentinels, especially American Sentinels."

"Yes, but have you considered that one of the uncontrolled variables here might be the presence of a Guide?"

Blair shook his head even as Eli said it. "No way. Jim had his control long before he met me."

"Yes, but how does possessing a Guide affect control? And if a Guide can bond and maintain control, how can the SI deny the possibility that Sentinels could do the same?" Eli took a step back. "Blair, I'm appealing to the scientist in you. I know you are passionate about your research into Sentinels, but can you truly deny the possibility that research into Guides might be just as valuable? That is," Eli slid his glasses down and considered Blair over the top of them, "assuming that you are right and that Guides bond."

"Eli… I just…"

"When is Captain Ellison's hearing?"

Blair didn't answer right away, he struggled with a reason to just cut off this whole conversation, but he honestly couldn't come up with one. "Jim, he wanted you to call him Jim," Blair finally said. His brain chased the logic of Eli's argument through his brain without finding any holes, but a little part of his soul still shriveled away from the idea of drawing official attention.

"When is Jim's hearing?" Eli asked.

"Tomorrow. I stopped by to pick up some research. I know that the judge is going to throw the book at Aldo for using her court to get his petty revenge, but while we're there, I'm going to ask permission for Jim to do undercover work. A local thug thinks that Jim is a criminal who uses a removable collar to hide illegal activities."

"Oh. And does Aldo know that Jim has been talking to criminals?"

Blair snorted. "Hell, no. But really, it wasn't anything either of us planned, so the judge can't blame us either. But Jim could do a lot of good going undercover."

"And it might get that collar off him," Eli said gently. He sighed and turned back to his desk chair, settling into it slowly.

"Yeah. Man, I'm still not feeling good about the fact I helped them put it on him."

"I understand your concern, but Blair, you need to approach the work scientifically. You have a theory: Sentinels are capable of a high-level of self control. You have a second theory: the SI undermines their control. Jim can certainly give you anecdotal evidence, but if you want to change the system you need to focus that incredibly sharp mind of yours on finding these in-control Sentinels and recording the data."

Blair nodded as walked back to the couch. He pushed the packing materials away from a corner and sat. "I know. And Eli, I will help with the intake interviews at the SI and the follow up interviews. I will do all the testing of the identified Sentinels, and I will totally look the other way while Jim helps you with the runners."

"But you won't do your own research, and you really don't want me to pursue any research along the lines of Guides if it means pulling you in as a research subject," Eli summarized. He pulled his glasses off and rested his chin on his fist. "Blair, your decisions are not in the best interests of the science."

"But they are in the best interests of keeping Jim. If I'm doing something illegal, Aldo is going to bust me in two seconds flat, and if the SI starts looking at me, questioning my judgment because I have a bond, then Jim and I are going to end up under a microscope. Man, let me just say that our relationship is so not going to handle that."

"So, your concern is for Jim?" Eli asked. Blair nodded. "Okay, the second part I can easily address. Blair, I will not release your name or any identifying information. We have worked together long enough that I think I have earned your trust on that issue."

Blair cringed and focused on the decorative trim on the front of Eli's desk instead of looking at the man. "I know you'd protect a research subject. I totally didn't mean to imply you wouldn't."

"And as for the first part. You need to decide how you can best protect Jim, if that's your goal. Certainly, by acting within the constraints of the law you are protecting yourself from SI action, but if you want to convince society to give Jim more rights, you may need to take more risks."

Blair looked up at Eli, studying those blue-grey eyes that studied him right back. "Eli," he said helplessly.

"Young Mr. Sandburg," Eli started, a term he had first used on Blair when Blair was sixteen years old and staring wide-eyed at the campus. "You have choices, and you need to think about what you want and how you are going to get it."

"Man, you're playing dirty," Blair complained softly. He did want Jim to have the same rights as everyone else. And yeah, Sentinels who had learned to be helpless would probably still need the structure of the guardian system, but treating Sentinels like children shouldn't be the default position. And Blair didn't even want to think what sort of indignities and disrespect Jim was suffering back in the SI again. Blair could feel his heart start pounding at the thought.

"While I would like to say that fighting dirty is beneath me, it clearly isn't," Eli agreed. "Blair, the truth is always better than even a misguided attempt to try and control the flow of information. Researching the possibilities of Guides and Guide-bonds will not hurt Jim's chances at being recognized as a full citizen."

Blair sat back and stared at the ceiling. The anthropologist in him already agreed with Eli. But he couldn't avoid the small fear that at this point any knowledge would just end up twisted if the SI got a hold of it. And a huge part of him just wanted to talk this over with Jim since this really was his fight, his and the other Sentinels who could maintain self-control.

"We could do some tests with you this afternoon, see if we can get an MRI over at the hospital even. I would have you home in time for a good night's sleep, and tomorrow you can go get Jim back."

"Man, am I this pushy when I'm trying to get someone to work with me?" Blair asked with a snort.

"I remember a young man who took on a local's challenge and spent two hours balancing on a sacred rock just to get the tribe to introduce you to their Sentinel."

"You know, you could have told me the rock wasn't sacred and they were just pulling my leg," Blair said as he looked at Eli. The old man had an amused expression.

"Yes, but you earned their respect. I think stubbornness is the first requirement in anthropology."

"And when we finish the tests, maybe you can help me find a few case studies that would support the idea that a Sentinel can work undercover?" Blair asked.

"Deal," Eli agreed with a smile as he stood up and walked around his desk with his hand out to shake on it.

Blair took his hand and finished the deal. "Man, I never thought I would be on the other end of Sentinel testing," he mused as he pushed himself up using the arm of the couch.

"Karma is a bitch, my friend," Eli agreed. "Give me a second to gather some notes, and we're going to see whether you have the biological evidence of a bond."

THIRTY SEVEN  
***  
Walking into the familiar courtroom, Jim sighed at the sight of his supposed social worker sorting through papers at the table. The bailiff led him to through the low swinging door and guided him to a chair next to her.

"I have your file right here," she said in a distracted voice as she kept flipping through papers. Jim realized he'd forgotten her name and he couldn't come up with a polite way to ask for it. Of course, at another time he might not have worried about being polite, but right now he needed to make the system happy, and being rude to the social worker was not on his agenda.

"Have you talked to Blair?" he asked, trying not to give voice to the panic he could feel curling in his guts.

"I didn't have a chance to call," she gave him an apologetic look and a shrug as she pulled out a file. "Is he a good guardian?" she asked, looking at the papers in her hand. Jim could tell that she was paying more attention to him than she seemed to be, though.

"He's a very good guardian," Jim agreed. "He leaves his towels on the floor, but no roommate is perfect."

The woman abandoned the pretense of reading the file as she looked at him in surprise.

"Do you want to go back with him?" she asked, and Jim could almost read her train of thought. If Jim liked Blair, why wasn't he panicking over the chance of being taken away? Jim focused on the woman.

"I know I'll go home with Blair. The guy who filed the complaint…"

"Detective Aldo," the social worker filled in for him, as though Jim didn't know the name of the asshole trying to ruin his life.

"Detective Aldo has an ax to grind with Blair; Blair busted a dirty cop inside Internal Affairs, and ever since then, he has harassed Blair to the point that Captain Banks has complained about his lack of professionalism," Jim quickly summarized, trying not to show his aggravation that the woman hadn't investigated any of this herself.

"So he's wrong about Detective Sandburg taking you to the scene of a pedophile's attack and murder of a little girl?"

"We went to the scene, but only long after the event. There was no chance of the suspect being on scene."

"And yet, he was," the social worker pointed out.

Jim stared at her, calmly marshalling his arguments while trying to not scream in frustration. No wonder Sentinels went on rages.

"He wasn't there at the scene I was asked to cover. Neither time. I picked up on his scent when Blair and I went to inform the detective in charge of the scene that we were leaving. It was just dumb luck, and the sort of dumb luck that leads to a pedophile and murderer being arrested," Jim pointed out. He would have crossed his arms and glared, but the shackles made that impossible. Instead, he curled his hands into fists as they lay in his lap.

"So, Detective Sandburg did break regulations," the social worked concluded.

"His captain didn't say so," Jim said, shifting slightly so he could stare at the judge's bench instead of the social worker who sat beside him.

"Captain Banks did file a petition in favor of Detective Sandburg," she admitted. Jim glanced over, surprised that Banks had gotten so involved. While he had shown Jim more respect than most people did, Jim hadn't expected him to get involved. The moment the back door to the courthouse opened, Jim knew it was his Guide.

"Blair." The whisper escaped before he could think about it, and the social worker glanced back.

"It is him. Your rating must be quite high."

Jim continued to stare forward, struggling to keep his control firmly in hand. The familiar heart pounded just a little too fast, and the scent that now teased Jim smelled of adrenaline.

"All rise," the bailiff ordered. "Judge Brampton presiding." Jim struggled up, his chains making it hard to move the chair far enough to comfortably stand. A familiar face appeared in a door behind the judge's bench and the judge walked to her chair and sat.

"Be seated," the bailiff ordered. Jim sat as the judge flipped through a file matching the one his social worker had.

"James, this makes three times in as many months. What am I going to do with you?" the judge asked in exasperation. Since the question sounded rhetorical, Jim ignored it and focused on Blair whose heart beat dangerously fast.

"Steph, what's up with my favorite Sentinel?" she asked. The social worker stood up.

"I received a very serious complaint from Lieutenant Aldo in Internal Affairs. He claims Detective Sandburg illegally included Sentinel Ellison in the pursuit of a pedophile, putting both the suspect and Sentinel Ellison in significant danger. James insists that he was simply checking a scene and that the presence of the pedophile was coincidence, but Detective Sandburg took him to the scene of a child's murder, an act which appears illegal on the face of it."

"Not illegally," Jim interrupted. He expected someone to tell him to shut up, but the judge looked over at him.

"James?" she prompted.

Jim took a deep breath. He hadn't expected to be heard, but he knew he had one chance at this. "At most, this was a breach of policy, and that's something Blair has addressed with his captain. But he never broke any Sentinel law or any other law."

"Illegal might have been too strong a word," the social worker said, her lips getting thin as she looked over at Jim with clear aggravation. Too damn bad for her. "However, Detective Sandburg clearly put his Sentinel in harm's way and violated department policy by allowing contact between Sentinel Ellison and a pedophile. The emotional damage Sentinel Ellison could have suffered if he'd gone into a rage and killed the suspect…. Your honor, this is clearly not a healthy situation for Sentinel Ellison."

Jim gritted his teeth as his social worker described the situation in the worst possible terms. His opinion didn't actually count; Jim pulled at the chains until the wrist cuff bit into his skin, the physical pain pulling him back from the cold fury that left him ready to snap the woman's neck. And from the way the judge considered Blair through narrowed eyes, the social worker was going to get her way. Jim's fists curled around the chains as he considered just how little choice he had.

"Your honor," Blair called from the seats behind the rail.

"Detective Sandburg, it's so nice to see you fully conscious, but I am wondering what the hell you were thinking—if you were thinking at all," the judge demanded, her voice sharp.

"Neither of us expected to find the suspect on scene. We were just investigation the crime scene, not actually pursuing Kari Taylor's killer." Blair pulled out the same arguments he'd used with Simon, but the judge looked significantly less impressed with them, and that wasn't an easy task considering how uniquely unimpressed Simon had been.

"So, you were investigating the child's death without pursing the suspect?"

"Exactly." Blair nodded enthusiastically as the back door on the court room opened. Jim's eyes opened wide when he recognized his father's face. He was older, deep lines highlighted his eyes and age spots mottled his skin. His hair had turned white, but the square jaw and hard eyes hadn't changed at all.

"Detective Sandburg, that sounds suspiciously like equivocation," the judge continued, and Jim pulled his attention back to the proceedings.

"No, your honor. I already talked to my captain after we did the first sweep of the area, and that was when Jim identified clues that led to a whole new line of investigation. Two new lines really, three if you count the ceramic dog, but the point is that the investigation at the scene led to the arrest of Antonio Herrera."

Blair had started babbling, and Jim prepared himself for the worst. They were going to lock him in a little cell and then, depending on who was in charge, they would either just let him stew for several weeks until the need to find Blair was overwhelming or they would bring in someone who would verbally attack Blair until Jim felt that same overwhelming need to find his companion. At least this time, he'd be locked up by people who knew the dangers of a Sentinel who was suffering a broken bond, so there wouldn't be another disaster with a guard or even a chance of him having a stroke, at least not a large chance. Jim almost wished he could just have a stroke and avoid the breaking bond, but the worst part was knowing that Blair would suffer the same, only he'd have to do it alone.

"This seems like a lot of fast talk for you putting James' needs one step behind your desire to catch this killer. Detective Sandburg, while I admire your dedication to your job, I would remind you that as a guardian, you must always put your Sentinel's needs first. Always."

"I totally get that." Blair nodded his head until the flash of the earring reflecting the florescent lights just about made Jim zone. Control shifted, abandoning Jim as he clutched the wrist chains.

"No, you obviously don't get that," the judge snapped. "If you did you'd avoid putting James in a position where he could have lost control—and then he would have to live with the knowledge that he had killed someone."

"Your honor, I know. It was really stupid," Blair immediately changed tactics.

"Stupid doesn't cover it," the judge interrupted, clearly not impressed. "You're just lucky that James has so much control, and I'm just not sure I can trust you to put James' needs above your own work as a detective."

"I never…"

"Thought about James' needs as a Sentinel? *That* is clearly evident," the judge snapped.

"He's thinking about Jimmy's needs more than anyone else in this room," a voice called from the audience. At first, Jim didn't even recognize his father's voice. The confidence Jim remembered had become the tremulous thread of an old man.

"This is not an open hearing," the judge cut him off and the bailiff started walking toward the audience, ready to enforce the judge's order.

"I'm William Ellison, Jimmy's father," he said as he stepped to the rail that divided the front of the courtroom from the audience.

Jimmy. His father hadn't called him Jimmy since he was twelve years old on that football field. After that it was 'Jim, act your age' or 'James, show some self control.' And yet, now that he had proved every one of his father's fears true by sitting in a Sentinel court in chains, his father came in and called him Jimmy.

"Mr. Ellison, if you think your position is going to convince me to alter my decision, I can tell you that your money means less than nothing to me. My job is to defend your son's best interests. As of right now, you don't have any part in that."

Jim watched his father step forward, a hand spotted with age resting on the rail between the seating and the front. "If you're concerned about my son, then let him do some good work. You take away his chance to make a difference in the world, and you'll destroy him quicker than anything," William said calmly, and Jim found himself suddenly confused. In all him imagined reunions with his father, he had envisioned accusations and recriminations, but never this unfamiliar old man trying to stand up for him.

"Your honor," Jim started, not sure what he was going to say.

"Jimmy was a Ranger, or have all of you forgotten that? He's earned fifteen service medals. He served as a commanding officer."

"Mr. Ellison, I know that James has served his country…"

"No!" William slapped his hand down on the rail, and the bailiff took an involuntary step forward. Twisting in his seat, Jim glanced back toward Blair, trying to decide if this was one of his Guide's hair-brained ideas, but Blair looked just as confused as the rest of them.

"No, you know nothing," William said more calmly this time. "He was always a Sentinel. You folks think that he developed late, but he developed sight when he was twelve. He had all five senses by the time he was sixteen, and I have the medical records here. Dr. Vogt has died since then, but his records are legal documents."

Jim stood, the chains digging in his wrists as he moved too quickly, and his father's eyes focused on him.

"Roy," the judge said, and the bailiff stepped between Jim and his father, motioning Jim back to his seat.

"Dad," Jim said quietly, but the bailiff's hand on his arm pushed him back, and Jim had to either sit or fight. He sat.

"Mr. Ellison, you are confessing to a felony here."

William nodded. "Yes, your honor. I already told my lawyer what I was doing. But Jimmy is a soldier, and now he's a cop. You take that away from him and you'll take something important. If his partner took him to the scene, then it was because his partner knows that Jimmy has control. He's had control for twenty years, and that's not going to change just because you lot finally figured out that he's got the senses."

Jim looked up at the judge who had a shocked expression and then back toward his father who stood with his fingers wrapped around the rail as he leaned forward.

"I'm taking this to chambers. I want the two Ellisons and Detective Sandburg in my chambers now," the judge demanded. And then she was up and out of the room before the bailiff could even call for people to rise.

"Roy, should I…?" the social worker asked, waving a hand toward the door to chambers.

The bailiff came around the table and got a hand under Jim's elbow, pulling him up, and Jim gritted his teeth at the overt show of control. "Nah, the judge was pretty specific," he said as he pulled Jim toward the door behind the judge's desk. "You two, come on," he said to Blair and his father who still stood in the audience. Blair practically scrambled to come through the gate, his father was a little slower. The few other people in the room, probably other social workers or lawyers sat and whispered to each other as they all headed to the judge's chambers. Jim shuffled down the hallway, the bailiff's fingers firmly pulling his arm and Blair's fingers brushing against his back as they walked.

"Is this some scheme of yours, Detective?" the judge demanded when they reached chambers. She sat on the sill of her window, the screen pulled out and laid on the floor and a fan pointed at her as she took a deep pull at her cigarette and then blew smoke outside.

"No your honor," Blair quickly said as the bailiff pointed Jim at a chair and pushed him down. The bailiff stood behind Jim, arms crossed, but Blair still slid closer until he could let his hand rest on Jim's arm. The warmth centered Jim even as the bailiff's cold glare in Blair's direction made him want to back the tall guard into a corner and have a few words with him about picking on someone his own size.

His father took a seat as far from them as he could. Jim was still trying to figure out what his father's game was.

"So," the judge said after another drag at the cigarette. "If I have Roy open that bag of yours, is he going to find more of these mysterious medical records that prove James has been a Sentinel all along?"

"I have the medical records, if that's what you want to see," William said as he pulled papers out of his briefcase. "My lawyer has the originals, but if you need to see them, you can."

The judge glared at him for a second. "Detective Sandburg, this is your one chance to convince me that you aren't just unfit as a guardian but also trying to pull some con that will get you held in contempt of court."

Jim yanked at his chains hard enough to make them rattle, and the judge glanced over at him, her brows lowering in a frown.

"You honor," Blair said, and Jim could hear the tremor in his voice. Holding his backpack with one hand he started rummaging around in it with the other. "I never thought you'd take Aldo's charges seriously. I didn't even bring anything to defend against those because I didn't think I needed defending. I brought case studies, several Sentinels in World War II, a few who from Europe and one in Asia. I wanted Jim to have the right to work undercover, and so all the evidence I brought, it's all to convince you to give Jim more freedom." Blair stumbled to a stop, papers clutched in his hand, and Jim could smell the panic.

"So, you have no problem endangering your Sentinel and you want my permission to endanger him more?" The judge's eyebrows rose.

"Man, I would never do anything to put Jim in danger, and yeah, the whole scene of the crime was pushing the rules a little bit, but it was totally not against regulations, and I knew Jim wouldn't have trouble."

"How did you know that?" the judge asked, leaning forward while she hung the hand with the cigarette out the window.

Blair glanced down, but Jim could only look up and hope that the kid's tongue could get them out of this.

"He told me that he'd been a Sentinel the whole time. He was ordered to work with a general who had slaughtered a village, including all the children. No way would he have gone off the deep end. And he so didn't. When he found the suspect, he didn't use excessive force, not even excessive for a non-Sentinel. Man, he was totally in control."

"So, you're buying this story about him developing in adolescence, too?" the judge asked before she transferred her gaze to William. "Okay, so either convince me you committed a felony twenty or so years ago, or I'm going to assume you are pulling a very strange con."

"Your honor," William held out the papers. "I have his medical records. Dr. Vogt kept Jimmy's original tests, but he would always substitute other figures for the school records."

"I really should be advising you to not say anything more until you're represented by a lawyer, but I have to ask. Why would you do that?" The judge leaned farther out the window and took another deep pull at the cigarette, but Jim focused on his father. For twenty years he'd wanted to ask that question… more than twenty years. Some nights he would tell himself that his father was afraid for him, but others he would remember that angry expression, his father bending over him, yelling, and he couldn't imagine any love in that face. Then, the lessons on control seemed more about William Ellison protecting himself and the reputation of his youngest son from the taint of the elder. Now, his father's hands shook slightly as he put the medical records down on the chair next to his.

"His mother and I didn't want anyone to know."

"Mom?!" Jim demanded angrily. Even though he knew he should stay out of this, he just couldn't. "Mom left when I was a kid; she didn't have anything to do with this."

His father shook his head. "Your mother didn't know you were a Sentinel, but we knew you or Stevie might inherit the gene. We didn't want you stuck in the system."

Jim could see his father's eyes brighten with tears that the stubborn old man wouldn't cry, and Jim just didn't even have an answer to that.

"Jim's mom was a Sentinel," Blair said quietly. William nodded.

"She did develop late… after Stevie was born. We hid it as long as we could, but when it got too dangerous, she headed for Canada."

"So, you drove your wife out of her home and away from her children and left her vulnerable to slavers or maybe just the weather as she ran from the law?" the judge demanded. "Do you even know if she's alive?"

William shook his head, and Jim clutched at the chains, struggling to even understand everything his father was saying. How many times had his father yelled at him and Stevie to stop talking about their mother? He'd pulled down every picture of her, locked them up like he wanted them to forget her. And she had run to hide being a Sentinel? "She had an aunt," William finally said. "She was in the system, and her guardian beat her to death. And the only thing the law did was call it an accident. The woman didn't have any rights," William snapped back.

"You were her husband. Unless you planned to beat her to death, that wouldn't have been an issue. And while the system does sometimes fail, any Sentinel is entitled to protection, even from a guardian." The judge paused long enough to look at Blair. "Especially from a guardian."

"But there was no guarantee that I would get custody. I had a couple of convictions for insider trading and unfair business practices. We couldn't stand the thought that some judge could give her to another man like a piece of property. And if she were a registered Sentinel, they'd look at the boys even more closely. We knew we'd never be able to protect them if they developed senses." William stopped and took deep breaths, obviously struggling to control his emotions. "Jimmy grew up fine. He never needed the SI to learn to control himself or his senses."

"This is ridiculous." The judge put the cigarette out on the window sill and tossed it from the window before coming over and picking up the medical records from the chair next to William.

"I did the best I knew for my family," William said softly.

"Yeah, well you fucked it up on all counts from where I'm sitting," the judge said without a whole lot of compassion. She flipped through the records slowly, scanning each page as she slowly backed up until she could sit on the edge of her desk.

"Do you have any idea what these records show?" the judge demanded as she pinned William Ellison with a furious expression.

"They show he was a Sentinel even back then."

The judge snorted. "They show he was a highly disturbed and distressed Sentinel. His tests are all over the map. He has no consistent levels, and his control varies widely from one test to another. If I had a sixteen year old with these records, I would remove him from the family and put him into an Institute two years early."

"He was fine. He controlled himself," William objected, but the judge just gave him a withering look.

"Okay, so based on the evidence, I would have to assume that Detective Sandburg and Mr. Ellison are right. James developed his abilities in adolescence, which does suggest that he has a higher level of control than these tests would indicate. These tests show a Sentinel on the verge of disaster."

"Your honor, may I?" Blair asked as he held out his hand. The judge considered him for a second and then surrendered the records. "Jim, would it bother you?" Blair asked as he looked down, and Jim gave a little shake of his head.

"Go ahead and knock yourself out, Chief," he offered. Blair already knew more about him than anyone else, and if anything, it bothered him that the judge and his father had seen something that Blair had not. Blair stood and flipped through the pages of medical records describing the worst years of Jim's life. Jim had been happier lying in his own waste in an eighteen inch high shelter trying to kill a man with a long-range sniper rifle.

"Your honor, my father…" Jim paused. "My father made some mistakes."

The judge snorted, her fingers working nervously as though she wanted another cigarette.

"But Blair has been nothing like that. Blair has listened to my concerns, and if anything, he has held me back. He tried to keep me from going after the murder suspect. And if he'd had any idea that the suspect would still be right there at the same place where he'd left the body, he never would have taken me back there. My only complaint with Blair is that he sometimes forgets that I was a captain in the Rangers. I commanded men and made life and death decisions on a regular basis. I watched men die in my arms because of the decisions I made, and I collected their dog tags and went on with the mission objectives." Jim kept his voice calm, and he focused on the judge, trying to force her just through will power to see past Jim the Sentinel and see Jim the man.

"And you had your senses?" she asked, her hands reaching for the cigarette pack on her desk.

"Yes, ma'am. Sometimes they would fade, but there was always some of it there. The guys used to call me 'Radar' because I would hear things coming."

The judge retreated back to the window as she lit the second cigarette. For a long time, she smoked and stared out over Cascade, and Blair's fingers tightened on Jim's arm. Jim wished he could reach up and take Blair's hand and promise him that it was okay, but he didn't have the power to do either. He strained at the chains, even knowing it was hopeless, just because he didn't have any other way of letting Blair know how much he wanted to be free to take Blair in his arms. Jim shoved aside the whole question of his father because that emotional tangle was simply too snarled for him to even try and figure out right now.

"Your tests from childhood. They show some numbers higher than on your SI jacket, and that jacket is pretty impressive," the judge finally said to the skyline. However, Jim knew exactly where she was going.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"You were tricking the tests," she accused him as she finally looked back into the room.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Damn it, this is so far out in left field that I don't even have a precedent for it."

"Man, I am taking my job as guardian seriously," Blair interrupted her thoughts, and she focused on him. "I'll do anything to keep custody. You tell me what I have to do and I'll do it," he vowed.

"You aren't taking him undercover," the judge started, and Blair nodded immediately. "And he needs to be retested. I want true numbers on his senses, and I want to make sure they're stable. These older records show evidence of psychological trauma, and I want a full series to make sure that isn't still lurking in there."

"Dr. Stoddard at the university is doing a study on Sentinels and control," Blair quickly offered, although Jim did notice how the man edited himself out of the picture. Then again, the judge hadn't been impressed with Blair's judgment, so that was probably a smart obfuscation. "He could do a full set of tests on limits and control."

"James, no more tricking the tests," the judge warned, pointing her fingers at him with the cigarette still between them before she dangled the hand out the window again. The smoke detector gave a little chirp.

"Yes, your honor," Jim agreed, the coils of steel fear in his stomach slowly unwinding as the judge finally relented.

"And Mr. Ellison, your callous behavior toward your son is, quite frankly, shocking. I am entering a protective order, and you are not to have any contact with James. None. I get wind of one letter, one phone call, one accidental meeting on the street and you will be in jail for contempt of court, got it?"

"Yes, your honor," William nodded. He glanced over toward Jim, and for the first time since entering the service, Jim found himself wishing he could spend time with the man. He had made so many decisions in his mind about why his father would have done what he did, and now Jim found himself questioning all of them; however, his father's eyes slid down to the floor. "I haven't had contact with him for twenty-six years, your honor. I won't challenge the order."

"You're going to be lucky if you don't end up in jail," the judge pointed out. "Okay, I'm awarding probationary custody to Detective Sandburg on the condition that I get a new set of tests that align with these tests from his childhood. I also plan on making sure Steph pays you a few extra visits, and I want to see you back here in four weeks for a reevaluation. Please try and not end up back in my courtroom before then, gentlemen. Roy, process James into Detective Sandburg's custody, please."

The judge turned her back and returned to her cigarette, and Jim found he could finally breathe without the pain in his chest. Beside him, Blair gave a strangled sound and his fingers tightened into Jim's arm.

"Let's go home, Chief," Jim said as the bailiff caught his other arm and pulled him upright. Jim shuffled along with him to processing. "I'll meet you around the side," he said as Blair silently tried to follow. Not only would they not allow Blair there, but Jim didn't exactly want his Guide to see what the Institute uniform hid. For a second, Blair blinked as though in a trance, and then he nodded his head.

"You got it. I'll pick you up," he smiled.

THIRTY EIGHT  
***  
Jim let his hand rest on Blair's shoulder as his Guide unlocked the door to the loft. Home. Jim let his senses out as he scanned the familiar territory. The loft smelled of incense and burned grilled cheese sandwich.

"Blair," Jim said as Blair locked the door behind them. Blair turned and looked at him with dark eyes for a brief second before he stepped into Jim's arms. Jim held Blair's trembling body close, letting the warmth between them chase away the cold fears that had crawled into his soul in the last twenty four hours.

"I thought. Fuck, I don't even want to say it out loud," Blair gave a weak laugh and then he tilted up his head to look at Jim. "Welcome home."

Jim took the opportunity to press his lips to Blair's, to taste and nibble and feel the heat as Blair opened his mouth and tightened his arms around Jim's waist. Jim didn't want words, not now. He had his Guide, and he needed something other than words.

Blair moaned into his mouth, fingers pulling up at Jim's shirt, and then warm hands quested over his skin. Now Jim moaned as he pulled them toward the couch. He had more layers to work through to find his way to Blair's skin, and he pushed Blair's vest off.

Blair broke away from the kiss, panting, his eyes black with lust and he hauled his shirt over his head and flung it out of the way.

"Shh. Calm down," Jim murmured as he pulled Blair back into an embrace. He could feel Blair's heart pound and the blood rush through the skin so that his whole body pulsed in time with the hands that pulled at Jim's shirt.

"Shhh," Jim soothed again as he pulled his own shirt off with one hand, his other arm still wrapped around Blair.

"I could have lost you," Blair gasped, his fingers working the button on Jim's pants with a silent desperation, and Jim reached down and captured the wrists in his hands, maneuvering Blair back toward the couch until the backs of his legs pressed against the cushion.

"But you didn't," Jim pointed out. "I'm here. We're together." Blair opened his mouth, and rather than get distracted with 'could haves' and possibilities, Jim kissed him again, this time aggressively exploring, pressing his body to Blair's, smelling the dark musk that rose between them, tasting the coffee and the lingering remains of panic. Letting go of one captured wrist, Jim wound an arm around Blair's waist before pushing him into the couch, forcing him down. Blair went without complaint, ending up on his back, and Jim let his own body rest on top of Blair's.

Jim put his hands on either side of Blair's face, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss, sucking and nibbling and tasting everything he could, and Blair bucked below him grunting as his hands clutched Jim's back.

Pulling back, Jim smiled at the glazed expression on Blair's face. Brushing the curls back from the neck, Jim started tasting the skin, sucking gently until he could feel Blair shiver and tremble below him as he worked his way down over the chest.

With a quiet litany of "oh mans" punctuated by grunts and gasps, Blair twisted under Jim's hands as Jim explored all that exposed skin. His nipples were dark points by the time Jim reached them and he took one in his mouth, pressing with his teeth until he heard Blair suck in a breath and then soothing the skin with small kisses.

Blair's hands fluttered around Jim's head and shoulders, brushing lightly and then flying away to fist the native blanket thrown over the back of the couch or to grab the cushion. Ignoring the needy noises and heavy lust, Jim let himself linger over Blair's stomach, fascinated by the ripple of muscle and the way the hair follicles contracted when the cool air stroked the moist trail left behind by Jim's kisses.

Jim pressed his hand into the bulge in Blair's jeans, and the man bucked up and cursed vividly, accidentally pulling the blanket down on both of them. Jim shoved it to one side and unbuttoned the jeans, slowly unzipping them so that he could see the cock stretching the white cotton of Blair's briefs.

Lifting his hips in invitation, Blair's hands tried to reach for the jeans, but Jim got there first, pushing the jeans and the underwear to Blair's knees. Another day he wanted to map every millimeter of Blair, to taste and tease and examine each square inch until Blair squirmed with need, but now he couldn't wait, and Blair couldn't either. Blair panted, his head thrown back and his Adam's apple bobbing.

Blair's shiny cock head pushed out the end of the foreskin, and Jim fingered the unfamiliar skin. The only cocks he'd ever touched, his own and Keith's, were both circumcised. However the simple touch made Blair gasp and thrust, the precum gathering in the crease of skin around the head of it. Jim glanced up and Blair was clutching the couch cushion in one hand and had his arm flung up and over the end of the couch with his other. Jim quickly unfastened his own pants and shoved them down.

"Missed you," Jim admitted as he let his weight again pin Blair to the couch. He lined their cocks up so that he could hold both in one hand while he supported his weight on his other elbow.

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders and thrust up, his mouth open and gasping in air heavy with pheromones. Jim let his own eyes close as he lost himself in the movement of cock against cock. Jim just tightened his hold as the lust increased, taking control of his muscles. He thrust down, his motion timed with Blair's now rhythmic motions, and Blair gave a strangled shout as he came.

Jim thrust twice more and then came in a rush that left him physically dizzy and exhausted. He sank down, ignoring the stickiness between them as he allowed Blair to carry his weight.

Lying limply on the couch, one arm thrown out, Blair didn't complain. He simply brought his other arm down and started tracing circles on the back of Jim's shoulder. They lay there, sated and drowsy as the light in the loft softened and turned to the reddish glow of sunset.

"Man, you're going to smother me here," Blair finally said softly. He didn't sound like he was in any immediate danger, but Jim pushed himself up. As they separated, the smell of semen and lust thickened like a fog in the air, and Jim could feel himself harden again.

"Making up for lost time?" Blair teased as he sat up and let his hand rest on Jim's thigh.

"Something like that," Jim agreed as his cock reached half-mast. However, Blair wasn't recovering as fast, and so he pushed his own need aside.

"Totally time for that later. Lots of time. I'm thinking laying on the edge of a lake having sex pretty much 24/7 sounds good to me. We've got to make some plans first, though. I mean, with the judge keeping an eye on us, I don't know that we can use a whole lot of your money. I suppose we could write checks on the account, but we have to make sure that we're out of the country before she catches on."

"What?" Jim's brain was still sluggish with the lazy aftermath of orgasm, but he had obviously missed some important bit of conversation.

"Canada, man. We have got to make plans." Blair stood and pulled his jeans up, tucking himself away when Jim really wouldn't have minded a day or two playing nudist camp. But then again, that just might be his Sentinel instincts talking.

"Wait, what about changing the country being as important as defending it?" Jim asked. Okay, so he had questioned that logic at the time, but Blair seemed to have done a 180 somewhere and Jim wasn't sure where.

"Oh man. She was going to take you. We hadn't done anything wrong, and trust me, I've done plenty wrong so I know what breaking the regs looks like. And still, she could take you." Blair started pacing.

"Blair, calm down." Jim pulled up his own pants and went to grab Blair. Blair ducked out of his reach, and it took Jim several minutes to corral him near the stairs and finally wrap his arms around the man, who still trembled, but this time with an anger Jim could almost taste.

"It's not fucking fair. And man, I'm thirty fucking years old. When am I going to get it through my head that life isn't fair? I thought we were safe if we just played by the rules. And she would have taken you. Man, if your father hadn't come in there she would have put you back in that place. It's not fucking fair."

The words tumbled out of Blair so fast that Jim had trouble even catching them all. "Chief, come on, deep breaths," Jim said as he could hear the heart race and smell the panic that was quickly overriding the scent of lust that still clung to them. Blair did take several breaths as his heart slowly came back down to normal levels. This wasn't the post-sex scene Jim had in mind, but Jim tried to focus on Blair and the twists in that brilliant mind that sometimes seem to leave Jim and logic far behind.

"We have to leave," Blair said.

"Okay, slow down here, Chief," Jim said. Yeah, he agreed with the judgment, but no way was he going to take Blair away from everything, including his chance to undo the harm he'd done in the Sentinel division, and then live with Blair slowly self-destructing over that. "Help me understand what you're thinking, Chief. You wanted a chance to try and fix things, at least make a dent on the system."

"Man, you were all for running. You know we have to do this, and why did you let me get away with that utter crap about changing the world?" Blair aimed a mock punch at Jim's chest and then squirmed to get away, but Jim held on. Right now, Jim didn't trust Blair to pace the apartment without breaking something so he pulled Blair back to the couch with him.

"Okay, we need to sit and really talk about this," Jim said calmly as he sat and pulled Blair down next to him. He was already considering any number of plans, but with the two of them, the situation was changed.

"Oh man, Canada," Blair insisted. "Do you want me to break out into verses of O Canada? I'll do it. We can get across the border tonight, or we can write some checks against your account and then run for it, but that's the best bet."

"That's the fastest bet, not the best one," Jim countered.

"It's where you were going before," Blair said as he aimed a punch at Jim's leg. Jim let it connect, but then he caught the wrist before Blair could pull it back.

"It's where I was going when I was a Sentinel who had no guardian. Other countries weren't going to let me legally emigrate by myself, and I didn't have a chance of convincing them I wasn't a Sentinel, not with my fingerprints and military ID in all the systems," Jim countered. "The situation is different now. We have other choices."

"But legally emigrating… man, that takes time. And it's not that easy. There are waiting lists and rules and we don't have time."

"Okay, let's look at what we really need," Jim said quietly. "Absolutely, I need to have my Guide."

"And I need you. When I thought she was going to take you away…" Blair stopped. He yanked to get his hand free, but Jim didn't let go.

"I'm still here, Blair," Jim reassured him.

"Because your father showed up. Man, he had the judge so shocked, I don't think she knew what to think, but what about in a month?" Blair looked up at Jim, and he could see the honest desperation in the expression. "How did he even know?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Chief. My father has money and lawyers. I suppose he could have been keeping track of me since the SI grabbed me."

"Since I grabbed you," Blair corrected him, his voice tight. Jim pulled his Guide closer so that they sat on the couch hip to hip, Jim's arm around Blair's waist holding him close.

"You were trying to help."

"Yeah, just like your father was," Blair snapped as he struggled again to get up. Jim held on as Blair fought to run away. Jim wasn't letting it happen.

"Damn it, let go," Blair finally demanded. Jim did, but when Blair burst off the couch and headed for the kitchen, Jim followed.

"You are not my father."

Blair grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "Oh, your father, me, the SI, we all just love trying to do the right thing for you, and we all have fucked up your life. Tell me how I'm any different. Fuck." Blair opened the beer and went to take a drink, but Jim was not having this conversation with a drunk guide. He plucked the beer from Blair hand before it got to his mouth.

"Damn it, Ellison," Blair snapped.

"The difference is that my father would have told me I was a fuck up for causing this and the SI would put chains on me and patted me on the head. Compared to them, a good honest fight about what the hell we're doing looks pretty good, Chief."

"I can't lose you. Do you really think I give a damn about saving the world when I could lose you?" Blair asked, his voice trembling. Moving cautiously, Jim let his arm slip around Blair's waist.

"Yeah, I do, Chief. I think you're going to end up hating yourself if you walk away from this fight."

"Try me," Blair challenged him, looking up with the world's most stubborn expression.

"I'm not buying the act, Junior," Jim said confidently. "I'm not saying we should give up and put up with the bullshit, but we need to sit down and look at the situation, really look at it, before we go rushing off into a decision that might not be the best decision."

"Why can't we just run for Canada?" Blair asked, his body slumping as he closed his eyes. Jim gathered Blair into his arms, feeling Blair's guilt as though it were his own.

"Always start a mission by reviewing the objectives and the resources, Chief," Jim said quietly. "I know I need you. I need you, I need the right to make my own decisions, and I need to be able to function without someone always threatening to take you away."

"Man, I need you, and I can't take this again. I'm serious. I can't bear that they have the right to just take you."

"Okay, so that's a start," Jim said calmly, but he held onto Blair fiercely. This time, instead of fighting the embrace, Blair held him back just as tightly. "What about Kincaid?" Jim asked.

Blair laughed. "You know, for once, I can honestly say I don't actually care. Okay, I care. I would pay good money for front row seats to his evisceration, and man, that is so bad for my karma." Blair sighed. "Take him out and more slime will just fill in the hole. We can't stay around here just for him."

"Okay."

"Unless you need to," Blair quickly added. "Shit. Man, this is your call because what he did to you… and thinking about what he did to you, I really am thinking he might be worth sticking around for, but then I think what would happen if we broke some precious regulation trying to get him, and I am right back to wanting to get as far away from him as possible. I think I need therapy," Blair finally concluded.

"You're fine. A little dingy, but fine," Jim promised. "And we aren't going after him just because of what he did to me."

"Just?" Blair asked.

"Just. We've had this discussion," Jim said, making it clear that he was not having this discussion again. Of course, that had never stopped his Guide in the past, so Jim quickly changed the subject. "You need your PhD."

"No way, man. That is so not important," Blair objected and now he tried to pull away. Jim was stronger, though.

"Yes, it is. If you want to convince people to listen to your theories, you need a PhD and access to Sentinels to do your research. That might be in Canada, but not if we run now."

"Jim, that whole bullshit about changing the world was just some naïve fantasy. Blair Sandburg saves the day. Bullshit. The world is too damn big and right now I just want to save us."

Jim shook his head. "You say that now, but every time you pick up a paper and see some story about the Institute, it's going to rip your guts out. You finish your PhD, and even if you don't change the world, you'll know you went down fighting."

"Jim, that could take months."

"Chief, five months in the Institute, over two months with Keith, seven months on the run before that. I have the patience."

"Yeah, well I totally don't. We have to go see that harpy judge in a month. Oh man, I'm freaking here." Blair's arm's tightened around Jim's waist, and Jim stroked the trembling back.

"I know fear, Chief. I lived with it for a long time, but you're too strong to let it rule you. Come on, what do you really need, Blair. We need to be together, and…"

Blair shuddered and refused to answer for long minutes as they simply stood and held on to each other. Eventually, Blair sighed. "Man, I hate when you're right. I can't walk away from the fact that I fucked up, and I screwed up a lot more lives than just yours."

"Okay, so we make one month our goal. Can you do your dissertation in a month?" Jim asked. Blair gave him a look of such incredulous despair that Jim pretty much took that as a no. "Okay, so we get through the judge's reevaluation. Chief, if she thinks she has us scared enough to toe the line, we'll be fine."

"Fuck, you play chicken with those big rigs on the freeway, don't you?" Blair demanded, but at least the humor was reasserting itself. Jim loosened his grip.

"Nope, but I have played Russian roulette with a drunk Russian."

"You… what?!?" Blair jerked back with a yelp.

"I stole the bullets out of the gun first," Jim admitted with a shrug. "So, how long to finish your dissertation?"

"You're like a dog with a bone."

"You've said that before," Jim agreed. "So stop stalling and give me a time frame."

"All the research, identifying subjects, doing the testing, writing up the results. Maybe two months if I totally haul ass, and that's taking a couple of weeks off work to do the actual writing. I'd quit, but it'd be hard to justify having a big bad FBI-trained Sentinel if I was holed up in here on the computer."

"Yeah, not fair to adopt a Sentinel if you're not going to take him for walkies," Jim sighed. Blair shot him a look liberally laced with guilt. "I'm not talking about you," Jim reached over and gave Blair a noogie, and Blair gave a sharp "Hey!" as he retreated.

"Okay," Jim mused. "You have two months to get the dissertation done. So, whatever paperwork you need to line up, do it. I may not be able to contact my father, but if he really is on my side, I might be able to use his law firm to transfer some of my military money into overseas investments. I'll do some research on Sentinel laws and see if there aren't places that are a little more accommodating. Canada doesn't allow you to stay if you enter the country on a visitor's passport, but some countries do."

"Oh man, we go there on vacation, and then just forget to come home?"

"It's a lot easier than trying to run the underground railroad," Jim agreed. "We just need to find the right country. And if you have your PhD, that's going to make it a lot easier for you to get work."

"What about you?"

"I'm flexible," Jim smiled. "With my training, I could do security or private investigations or work in any number of fields where I could use the senses, and I would enjoy the work as long as I didn't have to wear a fucking collar to do it," Jim pointed out as he reached up to touch the warm metal. "Eight months with this thing, and some days it's like I don't even remember that it's on; it's too easy to just focus on life and forget what this means. And other days, it's like it weighs a hundred pounds and I'm struggling with it every single fucking step."

"God Jim, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, knock it off or you're going to get the world's worst wedgie," Jim threatened. "That's the other reason why you're finishing your dissertation and following through on your plans to try and change the world. If you don't, I'm going to have fifty years of guilt trips to deal with and that's not going to happen."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all about you, Ellison," Blair joked weakly. "Man, we're going to do it. We're going to play chicken with the semi truck and hope we don't splattered like a bug across the windshield. Shit. If we get caught…" This time Blair moved into Jim's space, reaching up and resting his hand on Jim's arm, his eyes pained.

"Not going to happen," Jim said, sincerely hoping he wasn't lying. "Besides, what did you call me? Scary covert-ops guy? If we do get caught, you stay right here and I will come find you," Jim promised as he pulled Blair into a hug. Even if they did get caught, he knew he could keep that promise because nothing would keep him from his Guide. They stood in the relative silence with the refrigerator humming away and distant traffic rumbling and the light of sunset slowly slipping away. They simply held each other.

"Plan?" Jim finally asked.

"It's a plan," Blair agreed. "It's not a particularly good plan and I'm scared shitless here, but it's a plan."

THIRTY NINE  
***  
Jim wandered up the stairs wearily; the bed was still rumpled exactly like he'd left it the morning Simon had woken them.

"You didn't sleep up here," Jim observed. Blair walked up the stairs behind him, already in boxers and a t-shirt.

"Nope," Blair answered as he detoured around Jim and flopped down on the bed. "Don't think I slept much at all."

"Chief," Jim sighed. "You can't let yourself get worn down, especially in enemy territory."

"Enemy territory?" Blair turned an amused look toward Jim before the expression faded into something more thoughtful. "Man, we are in enemy territory here, aren't we? Mom always said the system sucked, but we are taking that to whole new levels that not even she would have dreamed of. Of course, if she did dream of any of this, she so would have organized a whole peace-out, sit-in meditation on the SI lawn."

"Your mom sounds like an interesting woman." Jim crawled in bed, and Blair shifted around so that Jim could spoon around his back. Slipping an arm around Blair's waist, he pulled his Guide close and slipped his thumb under his t-shirt so that he could stroke a small bit of bare skin.

"Yeah, she's interesting. I mean, she is great, but she never does what you'd expect. She totally would have hid me from the SI if I had turned out to be a Sentinel, so she's a little like your dad on that front."

Jim froze.

"Oh man, I was right, you are totally avoiding the subject, aren't you?"

"I'm not avoiding; there's just nothing to talk about," Jim said. "Now go to sleep."

"No way. You know how you could spot my bullshit from a mile away? Well, it works both ways."

Jim sighed but didn't answer as he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Blair himself admitted he didn't have patience, so the guy had to give up eventually. Jim yanked his arm back when Blair ripped out several of his arm hairs.

"Hey!"

"Ignoring me is hazardous to the health," Blair said with an overly sweet smile as he rolled to his back and blinked up. Jim just rubbed the sore spot on his arm. "Talk." Blair punctuated the word with a poke at Jim's chest.

"Blair, there's nothing to talk about. My relationship with my father essentially ended the day I turned eighteen. Actually, I was seventeen when I graduated and walked out, but you get the picture."

"Yeah, and now he's come back in and thrown himself on the judicial sword. Come on. You have to be feeling something, here."

"I'm feeling like those medical records are going to sink us. I wasn't old enough to control myself when the senses first came on line, so some of those are probably pretty close to my true range. That's another reason for not going underground; there's no guarantee I can outmaneuver the police any more."

"But staying for my dissertation… and no fucking way. Oh you are totally changing the subject on me, and I am not done pointing out that you are avoiding talking about your father."

Jim sighed. He'd spent years trying to even forget his childhood, and dragging it all back out now wasn't sounding like the best idea. "I’m not avoiding it," Jim said slowly.

"Liar," Blair muttered as he shifted himself around so they could lie in bed face to face. "Oh man, if my mom had done something like that, I would be meditating for hours. Come on. If you don't let some of these emotions out, you're going to get emotional constipation and explode when you turn fifty."

"Chief, not wanting to talk about something is not the same as denial."

"Yeah, that's what everyone in denial says," Blair nodded knowingly. Jim reached out and tugged a curl.

"Hey!" Blair retaliated with a poke at Jim's stomach. "So, how do you feel about this whole thing with your father? I mean, he totally dropped a bomb with that bit about your mom. Wow. She was a runner. Well, still is a runner, hopefully."

Jim sighed. "This isn't the kind of conversation to have when I'm exhausted."

"Too tired to come up with good excuses to avoid talking?" Blair asked, the words completely negating the apparent sympathy in his tone. "Come on. If my mom showed up with some story about my father, I would be hanging on every word. And you can't tell me that it's not just a little odd, her running by herself when your father's got money."

Jim rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. "That's about the only part that does make sense to me," he admitted. He dialed his sight back until the loft faded and he was left with the same murky grayness that Sandburg could see. "You don't take kids on the run."

"You don't really think…."

"Think about it. If her and my father had taken us, Stevie and I wouldn't have had any home or stable environment or school."

"Which is sounding a little like my childhood," Blair pointed out quietly. Jim thought about that one for a second.

"Yeah, but if my parents had been caught, Stevie and I would have ended up in some foster care system." That made Blair fall silent for several moments.

"Man, she must have broken her bond to your father, being married to him and all. I think I know where you got your bullheaded strength."

Jim lowered his vision a little more so that the darkness surrounded him, but his senses tricked him, automatically focusing on hearing so the world suddenly became a rush of sounds: traffic from the street, Blair's heartbeat thumping, the scratch of fingernails against cotton, the clock downstairs ticking away.

"I don't remember that much. She laughed a lot." Jim fell silent, focusing on the sound of the city like a river rushing past the loft. Blair was silent for so long that Jim thought he'd fallen asleep, but a quiet voice slipped into the dark.

"This sucks. I mean, I know the system puts a lot more emphasis on family connections now, but still. I was a cog in the wheel that totally ran over your family back then and is trying to roll over you now. And I don't think I ever stopped to really think about Sentinels as mothers or soldiers or just people. Man, my next life is totally going to be as something that licks its own butt."

"Keep the guilt down, Sandburg," Jim suggested. A warm hand brushed against his stomach tentatively, and Jim reached out and captured Blair's hand, letting their linked fingers rest on his stomach.

"We both have issues, man. Serious, fucking issues."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh I totally am speaking for myself. No wonder my mom burned buckets of sage trying to cleanse my aura every time she visited." Blair sighed. "This restaurant downtown has turkey with sage dressing, and every time I walk in there, I think of mom and her sage."

The silence thickened, and Jim stared into the unfamiliar darkness. In the past, he would slip away from the lanterns of camp and let the black of night leech away the horrors he fervently wished he'd never witnessed. Or he would leave base and drive to the nearest dirt road where he could park and sit on the warm hood of his car and nurse a single cold beer for hours. Since Peru, his Sentinel vision normally made any glimmer of light into a shining beacon.

"I think of my mom when I smell lemon cleaner," Jim finally said. Blair's body warmed one side of Jim, their linked hands still rested on Jim's chest so still that Blair might have been asleep. "She used to tease me, asked how many feet I had because I made too many tracks across her floors to have just two."

Jim took a deep breath and held it for a second. "I don't want to talk to my father because it's easier being mad at him," Jim finally admitted, glad that only the darkness stared back.

"Yes and no. Yin and yang. Black and white. Oh man, it's a lot easier not looking at all the gray in between," Blair agreed. Then he moved, shifting slightly so that his body draped over one side of Jim, a leg coming up to pin one of Jim's legs to the mattress.

"I know he did what he thought he had to…" Jim stopped, not sure how to end that sentence, but Blair simply waited, uncharacteristically silent. The clock ticked away the time, a metronome that tranced Jim. "You're afraid that you're my father, screwing up my life with your good intentions," Jim said quietly. He reached out and stroked Blair's curls. Despite the temptation to raise his vision to Sentinel-normal and study Blair's face, Jim kept his vision low. "I'm afraid that I'm going to be my father and do something to ruin every relationship I have. When Incacha told me to leave, I felt like it was proof that there was something wrong with me."

"That's why you were ready to stay," Blair said with quiet confidence. "You thought you had to if you wanted to keep our relationship because your father always made you feel like there was something wrong with you."

Jim snorted. "I don't think that was running through my head at the time," Jim said, the solemnity of the moment suddenly broken by the image of himself brooding about his father and self-analyzing his motives in relation to his childhood trauma. That wasn't exactly his style. "I don't want to do something that makes it impossible for you to… I just don't want to end up with a Guide who hates me and stays because of the bond. I didn't think any farther than that."

"I'll never hate you." Blair's hand slipped away from Jim's grip and reached around Jim, pulling him close. "If you wanted to run tonight, I promise I wouldn't ever hate you. In fact, it would probably be better for my blood pressure than the current plan."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to live with the guilt of being a cog in the wheel and never even trying to undo the damage you did, and I would have to live with knowing that I walked away from my country without even trying to change the system I thought was important enough to risk my life defending. And Blair," Jim said quietly, "I do think you can make a difference. Someone has to start somewhere, and you have the guts to take that first step."

Jim waited in silence. Blair's heart has sped up, but without raising his vision, Jim couldn't see anything beyond vague shadow, so he didn't know how to interpret that.

"You really think… ?" Blair stopped, but Jim could follow that thought pretty easily.

"I really think you could," Jim agreed. Blair had laid on one of his arms, and Jim used that arm to slip his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. The musk smell that clung to Blair's body had never completely vanished, but now it brightened. Jim smiled as he leaned over and kissed Blair.

His lips found a chin with a five o'clock shadow, and Jim kissed up Blair's cheek until he found open, inviting lips. Jim kissed Blair softly this time, the desperate urgency of earlier having evolved into something slower and deeper.

Jim explored Blair's mouth unhurriedly this time, his tongue tasting and feeling everything as Jim reveled in just being able to touch his Guide. The river of city noises faded to some distant thrumming as Jim twisted so that he was now half on top of Blair.

When Jim pulled back a little, Blair's panting gasps drowned the sound of his pounding heart. Jim smiled knowingly and slid down far enough that he could taste the musk clinging to Blair's neck as he worked his hands under the annoying t-shirt that kept him from his Guide.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed, arching his back and grabbing at Jim's shoulders. Jim didn't answer as he sat up and pushed the t-shirt up to Blair's armpits. Blair took over from there, yanking it off and flinging it away. Still staring at the old familiar darkness with his vision turned down, Jim started mapping Blair's body with his fingertips. Starting at Blair's shoulders, he stroked the collarbones, letting his thumbs linger in the hollow formed between the shoulder muscle and the collarbone before he bent over and placed a kiss on the spot.

"Fuck, yeah. Oh man." Blair's hands migrated south, pushing Jim's boxers down over the swell of his ass so the fabric caught around his thighs. A little voice in Jim's head pointed out that he could get rid of them altogether if he just stopped straddling Blair's legs, but Jim had other concerns right now.

Jim let his hands stroke Blair's hot skin, down the arms and then up again as goose pimples dimpled his arms. Closing his eyes, Jim focused just on the feel of the flesh under his hands: the slide of tiny hairs against his palms, the heat that soaked into him, the curve of muscle under skin, the tremors as Jim leaned down and sprinkled kisses down Blair's arm.

"Jim," Blair breathed, the name a sigh, and Jim returned to kiss the lips that called his name so softly. By the time he pulled back, Blair was speechless and panting and clutching at Jim's back as he humped up trying to rub his hard cock against Jim. Instead, Jim remained straddling Blair's legs, making it nearly impossible for his Guide to get the motion right.

He would just have to wait, Jim thought evilly as he moved down to the now-exposed chest, tracing the pectoral muscle down to the hardened nipples. Jim sucked at one, using his thumb to massage the other as Blair alternated gasping with cursing. Blair dug his heels into the mattress and arched up as Jim ran fingertips over Blair's stomach. Sucking and tasting and nipping back up to Blair's shoulder, Jim left a damp trail behind.

"Fucking..." Blair's curse disappeared into a sigh as Blair reached up and caught the back of Jim's neck and pulled Jim down into another kiss. Jim groaned as Blair tugged at his lip with blunt teeth. The arms around him pulled, and Jim resisted for a half second before allowing Blair to reverse their positions so that Jim lay on the bed and Blair hovered over him.

In the darkness, Jim could only wait to see what Blair had in mind. Those long curls trailed down Jim's chest, each strand sliding like silk across his hot skin, and Jim hissed and arched up into the sensation. He could feel Blair pause and then the hair reversed direction, teasing Jim's skin to tingling life until they reached Jim's neck.

A warm tongue flicked across Jim's shoulder and then Jim groaned as Blair sucked at his neck, the blood rushing to the spot as Jim hardened. It was his turn to clutch Blair's back as Blair nuzzled his neck and then kissed his way over to the other side.

"I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you," Blair whispered as he pulled back so that the curls brushed against one of Jim's cheeks. This time, Jim reached out and caught the back of Blair's neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

While Jim distracted Blair's mouth with a kiss, his hand slipped into Blair's boxers and found the hot, hard cock waiting. He tightened his grip and slowly stroked up and down. Soon, Blair arched up and away from Jim's mouth as he gasped for air, thrusting down into Jim's body.

Jim could feel the tremors that warned of the coming orgasm, but then Blair was shimmying down out of Jim's reach. Just as Jim opened his mouth to complain, a hot mouth closed over the head of his cock, and Jim nearly choked as he tried to suck breath in and shout at the same time. His hands grabbed at the sides of the mattress as his vision returned with a startling pop.

He looked down to see Blair's cheeks rounded, his lips stretched around Jim's cock as he moved up and down, his eyes closed and the muscles of his shoulders rolling under the skin. Blair hummed, and the vibration made Jim's entire body tighten in anticipation, his fingers digging into the mattress.

Sinking down so that more than half of Jim's cock was in his mouth, Blair sucked, the cheeks hollowing as Blair pulled back and worked the head with his tongue.

"Blair," Jim gasped the warning and then he started coming in waves so intense that his vision grayed for a second as he lay limp and sprawled. By the time Jim had gathered enough brain cells to think of Blair, the man was crying out, the smell of his semen joining Jim's own as Blair collapsed on the bed next to Jim.

Jim reached out and pulled Blair close to his chest, the sweat of their bodies mingling.

"Going to be a mess in the morning," Blair muttered as he reached down and adjusted the boxers that had never actually come off. Jim could smell a fresh burst of semen as the fabric shifted.

"Don't care," Jim answered sleepily as he pulled Blair closer dropping another kiss on Blair's lips. The man now tasted of salt and musk and Jim.

"Yeah, yeah. Say that tomorrow when you see the sheets, Mr. Anal Retentive." Blair squirmed in Jim's arms, twisting until he could grab the edge of the sheet where it had landed on the far side of Blair and pull it over both of them.

Jim didn't answer as he tightened his hold on his Guide. Blair shifted until he had his head resting half on the pillow and half on Jim's shoulder. Considering he had his Guide and his plan, semen-stained sheets didn't phase Jim at all. Blair's breathing evened out to the steady rhythm of sleep and Jim finally closed his eyes and let himself follow his guide into sleep.

When Jim woke sprawled under a tree, the moss under him smelling of earth and rain, Jim couldn't even gather the energy to care.

"I found him," Jim told the air as he rolled to his back. He stretched out, wiggling when a stick found his thigh and poked him.

"Who did you find, Sentinel?" Incacha appeared on a branch above Jim, crouching there with his face painted for war.

"My Guide."

Incacha nodded. "I knew you would. I would not have sent you away if the spirits had not promised that your Guide needed you. He has the strength to drag you where the spirits would have you go. But he needs your power to shelter him."

Jim pushed himself up to his elbows and frowned at the shaman who peered down at him.

"Where they want us to go?" Jim asked. "I'm done being controlled, so why don't you just tell me what the spirits want?" Incacha's face remained impassive as the shaman looked down for several minutes. Finally he answered.

"I cannot give you answers you do not already have."

"Meaning you're a figment of my imagination, my subconscious or something," Jim translated. Again, Incacha stared at him with an expression that Jim couldn't read. During his entire time in Peru, Jim had never learned to recognize Incacha's moods, not the way he could read every other member of the tribe.

"Where is your Guide?" Incacha asked as he looked around. Jim sat the rest of the way up and examined the blue jungle around him.

"I don't—"

"Come on. Man, if we're late, asking Simon for time off is definitely not going to go well, if you know what I mean," Blair complained poking at Jim's stomach. "What happened to getting up at the crack of dawn shit, anyway?" Blair asked.

Jim blinked and looked over at the alarm clock which accused him of sleeping through the alarm. He turned and saw Blair, already showered and dressed.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out as though to feel Jim's forehead.

"I'm fine. Just strange dreams," Jim said as he grabbed Blair's wrist to keep him from making the overly maternal gesture. Instead Jim used the arm to pull Blair close and steal a kiss. Kissing Blair was quickly becoming one of his favorite hobbies.

"Shit. We are so going to be late, aren't we?" Blair sighed as Jim finally released his lips.

"No. We have a plan, and that means keeping Simon happy enough to give us time off," Jim answered as he firmly pushed Blair back a step so he could get out of bed. "Give me fifteen minutes, and I'll be ready for work." Jim headed for the stairs. New day, new plan, and this time, Jim planned to show everyone who got in his way exactly what a Ranger-trained Sentinel could do.

FORTY  
***  
Jim followed Blair into the bullpen, his stomach tight until he could see the room was clear of Aldo or SI goons and their chains. Rolling his eyes at his own dramatics, Jim headed for his desk where he eyed the edge where Aldo had sat.

"I need disinfectant," Jim commented wryly.

"Aldo cooties?" Blair asked in sympathy as he sat at his chair and flipped his computer on.

"That man is slime," Jim agreed as he came around and started sorting through the paperwork that had landed on Blair's desk during their suspension. Most were standard lab tests, and Jim quickly sorted them and filed each into the front of the various files that now sat in his desk drawer. At the same time, he cast his hearing out farther, searching the floor above for the cootie-bearer in question. No way would he overlook his sneak attack.

"Don't let slime catch you saying that. Total insult to slime everywhere," Blair snorted. Jim nodded his agreement as Brown and Rafe came in through the doors, manhandling a cuffed suspect who seemed more drunk than argumentative.

"Walk. One foot, other foot. Geez, some people should never touch the hard stuff," Brown complained as he aimed the suspect toward the chair next to Rafe's desk. "Hairboy, Jim, nice seeing you guys back.

"Yeah, yeah, you just didn't like having to pull your own weight around here," Blair teased as he opened his department email.

"Hey now, I resemble that remark," Brown laughed.

"Henri!" Rafe snapped as Brown's distraction gave the suspect a chance to lurch to the side.

"Shit." Brown grabbed at the suspect just a second after the drunk guy spun out of his reach and then kept on spinning, a hip bouncing off a desk as he spiraled off-balance toward Simon's office.

Jim leaped out from behind his desk and caught the guy by his jacket as Brown grabbed his arm. The suspect lost his balance and careened right into Jim's chest, and Jim wrapped his arms around the guy to hold him still as Rafe and Brown got firm grips on his arms.

"Maybe we should put him down in the tank to sober up some," Rafe suggested, sounding a little aggravated, like maybe he had made that suggestion before.

"Yeah, maybe we should," Brown shrugged. He hesitated just a second before giving Jim a manly arm-slap. "Thanks for the assist," Brown offered.

"No problem," Jim answered as he headed back for his desk with a small smile. Teach Brown some manners today, teach the rest of the world tomorrow. Jim glanced over at Blair and wondered just how badly his Guide would take it if his crusade to teach people about Sentinels failed. Well, he'd worry about that if the day came.

"Blair, Jim," Simon called as he stood at the doorway to his office watching the scene. "My office."

Blair sighed and whispered just loud enough for Jim's Sentinel hearing. "Man, this time it is totally not my fault. Aldo just sucks, and I do not mean that in the sexually satisfying way."

"We need to talk to him anyway," Jim pointed out as he headed for Simon's office, Blair trailing behind with a quiet litany of tortures he would like to inflict on Aldo. Jim gave the kid points for creativity and imagination.

"Simon, I know this was a whole mess," Blair said before Simon had a chance to say anything.

"Save the spiel, Sandburg. I don't blame you for Aldo's obsession, although it would be nice if you could do something to appease the man... or hide the body, either one works. After your little run in with Dessy, the department put a surveillance team on him. He threatened to kill a cop, which means he's looking to play with the big boys. And Monday, they picked this up." Simon pushed a stapled packet across the desk, the familiar heading showing when and where the surveillance had been recorded.

Standing next to the window, Jim focused his vision and immediately spotted the reference to Kincaid. Simon was sharp, too sharp to put this off as coincidence, and Jim found himself praying that Blair would sweet talk their way out of this one. One official reprimand for going vigilante and the judge was going to shove Jim back in the SI and shove Blair under the jail for contempt. Just because waiting was the best plan didn't make it a particularly safe one.

"Oh man," Blair breathed, sounding absolutely shocked as he dropped into one of the chairs across from Simon's desk. "Dessy's going into trafficking? But he has a Sentinel working for him. How the hell could someone work with Sentinels, see them function, talk to them and really see them as human beings, and then trade them like..." Blair voice broke off.

"You didn't know?" Simon asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I was doped up and fading in and out of consciousness. I don't know, maybe I heard something about Dessy and maybe I was just hallucinating. Simon, I was watching a damn wolf wander through solid walls at one point, so my whole mental state was—" Blair made a whistling noise and held up his hands in a gesture that made it clear Simon should just not go there.

"A wolf?" Simon asked. Jim just narrowed his eyes and looked at Blair a little closer. Blair hadn't mentioned a wolf before, but then he clearly thought the animal was a hallucination. Jim remembered someone else who insisted a black panther was a drug induced hallucination, until the damn thing started showing up without Incacha's spirit walk tea.

"Yeah," Blair gave a disgusted snort. "I was totally out of my mind. But this is... oh man, I hope they hang Dessy's eviscerated body from the castle tower, and for the first time since taking that class on medieval society, I totally understand why people felt the need to do shit like that."

"So, why would a white supremacist get involved with Dessy and his crew?" Jim interrupted. While he wouldn't admit it, this bloodthirsty version of Blair left him a little unsettled.

"Apparently Dessy has access to Sentinels and Kincaid wants Sentinels to trade for weapons." Simon took the transcript back from Blair. "Creeps like Kincaid only care about their cause if it gets them what they really want: money, power, and a chance to play their sadistic games. But we wouldn't have gotten this if you hadn't spotted Dessy's number two guy as a Sentinel. The team had to use a piezoelectric crystal recording device." Simon nodded to Jim, and Jim felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction. It'd been a long time since he was praised by anyone in authority for anything other than his damn senses.

Jim nodded back at Simon, accepting the praise without leaving his spot next to the windows.

"So," Simon started as he glared at Blair suspiciously, "You aren't going to give me crap about the fact that you're too personally involved and I’m pulling you from the Dessy case?" Simon asked as he leaned forward and studied Blair.

Blair shook his head. "The way things are going at the U, I needed to talk to you anyway."

"Problem?" Simon picked up his coffee mug and frowned at Blair over the rim.

"The chancellor is starting to question why I'm still around when I should have finished my dissertation like ages ago. Eli Stoddard, you know, the professor I'm writing that article with?" Simon nodded at Blair's description. "He says this is pretty much my last chance to get my act together or I'm going to find myself tossed out with an ABD, All-But-Dissertation, instead of my PhD."

Jim listened as Blair obfuscated the truth, skirting around the edges of it without actually saying anything untrue. And his heart beat steadily through it all. That ability truly made Jim doubt just how accurate his senses were at spotting lies because in his mind, Blair was lying through his teeth.

"So, what are you saying?" Simon asked, setting the cup down.

"Man, I'm going to have to actually work thirty hours instead of my normal obsessive-compulsive thing, and then in a month or two, when I have my research lined up, I’m going to have to cash in all my vacation time."

"All of it? What? Three weeks? Blair, this is not a good time..." Simon immediately started, but Blair held up his hand as he scrambled out of his chair.

"Totally. I totally get that, but this is crunch time, Simon. I can't lose my PhD after working on it this long. If I have to quit, I will, but man, please don't put me in that spot." Blair had backed up a couple of steps and had an expression like a puppy that's just been told it's getting sent to the pound. And obviously Simon wasn't immune to the expression because he sighed.

"Blair, this Ms. Bennett has already been down here asking about Jim's working conditions. If you quit, if you even stay home for three weeks, the woman is going to start asking what Jim is doing when you're working on your dissertation."

Jim stepped forward. "Blair needs time to work on his dissertation, but even if he quits, that doesn't mean I have to. You have another Sentinel who works with a partner who isn't his guardian."

"You mean Jamal Brown? He works with his brother who used to be his guardian."

"I'm capable of working without Blair babysitting me, and if it keeps Ms. Bennett happy, I'll work with Henri Brown or Rafe."

Simon leaned back in his chair and pulled his glasses off, tossing them on the desk. "I don't know how to keep Ms. Bennett happy right now, but making huge changes in your schedules isn't the best idea."

"Simon," Blair said, his voice strained, but Simon held up a hand.

"I get it, Blair. Joel is thinking about coming back to detective work, so he'll be covering vacations. Jim, if you and Joel get along, we can try that. But if Ms. Bennett or that judge start making noises..."

"I'll be out the door before you'll have time to say anything," Jim nodded in agreement. "I just wish I knew what would keep these people happy and away from me," Jim gave a sigh as he realized that they would have to walk a tight-wire until they were ready to run.

"Totally sucks," Blair agreed. He stood behind one of Simon's guest chairs, and when Jim glanced over, he could see the purpling mark on Blair's neck. Jim pursed his lips and felt an unfamiliar rush of need, which he pushed aside, promising himself that he could ravish Blair later.

"Blair's PhD could change things for the better for a lot of Sentinels. We need to take the chance," Jim finished.

"You're finishing your dissertation on tribal Sentinels?" Simon asked, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"No way. Man, that topic has been done to death. That's not just beating the dead horse, that's beating the dead horse's bones. It's scattered, desiccated bones. No, I'm doing research on Sentinel control. I wish I had time for some data collection overseas, maybe in Russia where Sentinels have no legal protections, even when provoked. But even without that, I totally think this could be amazing. In fact, if the operation closes up in the next week or two, I would love a shot at interviewing Jake Washington."

"Sentinel Institute already picked him up," Simon said. "We can't keep something like a runner a secret from the Sentinel division. They took him in yesterday."

Jim curled his hand around the back of the chair, not sure how he felt about that. Washington deserved prison. The steady hand on the gun that had pointed right at Jim's head suggested that this man had a lot of experience with that gun. He wasn't afraid of threatening someone's life, and he wasn't afraid of killing. But Jim couldn't help thinking that not even Washington deserved the life he'd woken up to this morning.

"He should be in jail," Jim commented.

"Yes, he should," Simon sighed. "But sometimes this world isn't fair. So, he gets a walk on who knows how many years of being one of Dessy's enforcers, and then if the SI signs off, he gets a brand new life working in some position where he's supposed to protect people. It's not a perfect system."

"Simon, I hear you. I so totally hear you," Blair nodded. Simon rolled his eyes, and Jim got the feeling that there was some history there.

"Just get out of here. Go introduce your partner to Joel and get something accomplished. I'll try to keep new cases to a minimum until you've got your schooling done, but I need you to be really on the job, not just punching a time clock," Simon said as he pinned Blair with a sharp look.

"No way. No way would I do that to you. You totally have me for thirty hours a week," Blair agreed.

"Great, that's only twenty hours a week less than I normally have you. I knew it couldn't last forever, but it was nice to feel like I had enough man hours in the department to actually get the work done for a change."

"I'll be back to working craploads of unpaid overtime before you can finish a box of cigars," Blair promised, but this time his heart pounded out an irregular pattern. Jim moved in, pushing his Guide toward the door.

"Oh, and sir," Jim said to Simon when he reached the door. "The commissioner is here, upstairs," Jim's eyes wandered up toward the ceiling.

"Oh fuck, not today," Simon groaned.

"He may be busy for a little while," Jim shrugged as he finished pushing Blair out the door. His Guide was too busy looking at him strangely to walk, so Jim just guided him toward their desks.

"He's going to be busy? What are you up to?" Blair asked.

"Just being a Sentinel," Jim answered with a wicked smile and a wink before he headed out of the bullpen.

"Jim?!" Blair called. Jim passed the elevator, and threw open the door to the stairs and pounded up the stairwell, the metal treads ringing under his heavy feet. "Jim!" Blair called from below as he ran to catch up. Jim stopped on the seventh floor landing and pushed into the hallway, looking either direction with an intentionally wild expression that sent police and one stray suspect in cuffs pressing themselves to the walls to escape his notice. Yep, an out of control Sentinel they knew how to handle, and Jim heard one officer call for someone with a tranq gun.

"Jim!" Blair called as he came storming out of the stairwell exit, and Jim took off for IA's offices as he heard the voices he wanted.

Around him, people scattered, and Blair grabbed his wrist, but Jim kept right on going, charging through the doors to IA, essentially dragging Blair with him.

"Jim, man, come on!" Blair cried out, but Jim executed a quick flip of his wrist with a sidestep guaranteed to break anyone's hold, and Blair stumbled back as Jim pulled free. Jim moved quickly, spotting Aldo and storming past a stunned redhead who sat at her desk with her mouth open.

Taking great pleasure, Jim grabbed Aldo by the front of his shirt slammed the man into the wall hard enough to make a file from on top of a cabinet flop to the floor. Jim jammed one thumb into the soft spot just below Aldo's ear, and the man made a strangled cry as he went onto his toes, squirming to get away from the pain.

"You just wanted revenge. Banks told you to back off. The judge sent me home, said you were wrong. You just keep coming after Blair. You wanted that Sentinel to listen illegally. You yelled about that. You keep coming after my guardian. Mine!" Jim roared, his face an inch from Aldo. Jim could breathe the terror-scent and see every blood vessel in the white of his eyes as Aldo's blinked as fast as his heart pounded. And best of all, Jim could hear the commissioner demanding to know what was going on. Aldo's stupidity wouldn't stand up to a close examination, and Jim knew that he was about to get examined very closely.

"Jim, come on, what are you doing?" Blair demanded as he pulled on Jim's arm. Jim drove his thumb a little harder into the pain point at Aldo's neck, and spit gathered at the edge of the man's mouth before Jim let Blair pull him away.

"Come on, Jim. Just chill out." Blair sounded desperate—desperate and confused—as he shoved Jim toward a corner of the room, blocking Jim's half-hearted attempts to get around him with his own body.

"I heard you. You wanted an illegal search. You wanted an illegal surveillance. Stay away from my bondmate," Jim shouted over Blair's shoulder.

"What is going on here?!" the commissioner bellowed, his eyes going from Jim to Aldo and back to Jim.

"He's mine," Jim snapped as his back hit the wall. Blair's hands fluttered from Jim's shoulders to his chest and back to his shoulders as Blair tried to figure out how to deal with this sudden shift in mood.

"I never... I didn't," Aldo stuttered out.

"I heard you. You're angry with my bond-mate. You said you'd get him back. Touch him and I'll break every bone in your body," Jim snapped. In another lifetime, Jim might have said those words and had the other person take them as exaggeration—hyperbole just to prove a point. Now Aldo lost all color, his face going white.

"Sentinel!" the commissioner murmured in a 'soothe the madman voice.' He stepped between Aldo and Jim, and Jim let himself focus on the man. The commissioner might have been athletic at one point, but now his wide shoulders were balanced by a wide belly and thick glasses made his eyes seem beady.

"He tried to take my bond-mate," Jim said, letting himself show a little more control before he overplayed his hand. A patrol officer showed up at the door with a tranq gun and the commissioner and Blair both held out hands to keep him from firing.

"He's okay, no tranq," Blair said.

"Hold position," the commissioner ordered. The officer kept the weapon trained on Jim, and Jim didn't even bother rolling his eyes at the incompetence. If he was truly a danger, letting him stand hip to hip with Blair's service weapon wasn't exactly smart.

"Sentinel, what did Detective Aldo do?" the commissioner asked softly. Blair glanced over his shoulder once before turning back to Jim and muttering softly for just his Sentinel's ears.

"Come on. So not worth it. You have more control than this. Whatever he said, man, it's not worth doing this. Just let it go."

Jim reached up and slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders, pulling him close as though he were a stressed Sentinel clinging to his bond-mate.

"I heard him three days ago. He asked some woman to use her Sentinel to spy on us." Jim watched while everyone in the room turned to the red-haired woman he'd stormed past when he first came charging in.

"Detective Irwin?" the captain of Internal Affairs asked, frowning as he took a step toward her.

Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the other until they came to rest on her captain. She sighed. "Yes, sir. Ray asked me if he could have Leslie listen in on Detective Sandburg and Sentinel Ellison. When he told me he had no warrant and no cause to get a warrant, I told him to back off this thing with Sandburg."

"I was doing my job," Aldo snapped, the color suddenly returning to his face with a flush of red.

"I could smell you," Jim said. "You liked seeing me chained. You want to get rid of my bond-mate. You lied to the judge."

"I did not!" Aldo said as he stepped forward, intent on defending himself. Jim snarled and pushed Blair a good two feet forward and Aldo retreated to the far wall just before Jim allowed Blair to manhandle him back.

"Detective Sandburg?" the commissioner asked. Blair wiggled around so that his back was to Jim, but Jim kept his arm around Blair, reinforcing the illusion that only Blair's presence kept him from ripping Aldo limb from bloody limb.

"He told the judge I had taken Jim in pursuit of a pedophile. I had obtained express permission that day from Captain Banks to take Jim out to the scene of the Taylor murder. The scene had already been cleared, there were no suspects on site, and other officers had secured the area. With a dozen uniforms and detectives around, there was no expectation that the pedophile would be anywhere near," Blair answered. All true, and all making Aldo look like the world's most manipulative son of a bitch, a title Jim was more than willing to nominate the man for.

"He chased the pedophile down. That's against the rules." Aldo defended himself from his corner without trying to come forward and challenge Jim again.

"That was an accident, Jim kept control the whole time, and my captain had already cleared the situation when you went to the judge," Blair practically yelled at Aldo. "Considering you were already trying to get other people involved in some illegal attempt to frame me, I don't think Jim's assumptions are that far off. You harassed me in the hospital when I was still drugged up to my gills, you threatened to make me miserable if I didn't resign, you implied that I couldn't do my job, and you did it all in front of Jim. Man, you spied and harassed and generally made a nuisance out of yourself because I busted your buddy. Boo fucking hoo!"

Now Jim tightened his arm, holding Blair back as his temper flared.

"You're hurting my bond-mate, and you came after me because it would hurt him... or maybe just because you got some sick thrill out of seeing me chained. I smelled the lust on you. You like controlling others? You like using chains in your bed?" Jim snapped. Immediately Blair abandoned his own anger and his hands stroked soothing circles on Jim's arms.

"Hey, it doesn't matter, okay? He's so not worth it. Totally not worth it. Just walk away," Blair urged him.

"Detective Sandburg, maybe you should take your Sentinel down to one of the Sentinel rooms. Detective Aldo should have his desk cleared out in an hour, and when he's gone, I'm sure Sentinel Ellison will feel much better," the commissioner offered. The room went silent.

"You can't fire me because of this long-haired hippy!" Now Aldo came out of his corner, his anger directed toward the commissioner, and Jim allowed Blair to carefully herd him back toward the door and away from the brewing confrontation. The officer with the tranq gun paced them, moving back to allow Blair and Jim to get to the door.

"I can certainly transfer you to another precinct while this is investigated. Firing you may come later."

Jim listened to the blustering and subtle threats of legal action and unions and federal charges as the elevator doors opened. Aldo and the commissioner were still going at it when the elevator doors slid closed and Jim and Blair were alone in the small space.

"Man, Aldo is not worth it. I mean, I want to gut him and hide the body, but he's totally not worth it." Blair still clung to Jim, as though expecting another explosion.

Jim bent over, scenting Blair's neck as he whispered in his Guide's ear. "That is how a Ranger gets revenge. Use every available resource, take advantage of misinformation, target what the victim values the most, and walk away without a scratch," Jim confided. Blair tipped his head up and looked at Jim with wide, shocked eyes. Jim also noticed it made the hickey on the side of his neck much more visible.

"Oh man, you are like... damn."

"Yep, aren't you glad I'm on your side?" Jim asked with a smile. The elevator opened onto the second floor, and Jim followed with his most meek expression as Blair led them toward the Sentinel rooms.

The attendant waved them through and Jim found himself in a Sentinel room with Blair, who stared at him with undisguised awe.

"He's toast, isn't he?" Blair asked.

"He's exiled to another precinct, and when the paperwork is done, he'll probably be out of a job without any pension or unemployment," Jim agreed. Blair smiled.

"Damn. Have I told you today how much I love you?" Blair asked slowly.

"Nope, but since we're stuck in here for an hour, feel free to show me any way you like," Jim offered as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

FORTY ONE  
***  
"Ruby!" Blair called joyously as he walked in through the rear entrance to the kitchen. Jim had braced himself for an olfactory attack, especially considering the run down neighborhood. Instead, he found himself in a gleaming kitchen. Even with the steam curling up to the ceiling and the sound of knives against cutting boards, the kitchen had an order to it that put Jim at ease. Ironically, that set off warnings right there.

"Blair, Sweetie, you are just in time. I need someone to run food to the front, my two volunteers from the high school didn't show up. Grab some gloves and an apron and get your ass in gear," a large black woman issued the order with a casual familiarity as she brushed past, stopping to give Blair's cheek a pat. Jim stepped forward, annoyed by the casual touch. But Ruby had already gone, depositing a pan full of chicken parts next to a woman before looking over the shoulder of a young man on the cook top.

"Hey, no problem. Always happy to help my number one lady," Blair said enthusiastically.

"Sweet talker. Devil's in that tongue of yours," Ruby said as she wagged a finger towards him on her way back to another prep table with the empty pan. The older woman making fried chicken laughed and chucked an apron at Blair before she went back to her own work. Ruby cocked her head toward the door that led out into the busy dining room of the free kitchen she ran. "They're out of mashed potatoes on the line. Get your sweet ass in gear."

"Potatoes," Blair said with a helpless shrug. "I can do that." Jim watched as Blair slipped on the apron and grabbed a huge pot that another volunteer offered him. "Be right back, Jim."

"No problem, Chief," Jim said, his gaze focused on Ruby. Blair had admitted before they came that she was, in fact, his contact to the underground. And what Jim found even more disturbing, Blair met her because she would call in reports of runners in the neighborhood. Every time Blair started in with the bit about some runners needing the SI, Jim just wanted to bop Blair upside the back of the head for being so naïve. But apparently, this woman had the same opinion. Jim was all set to dislike her.

For her part, she crossed her arms and studied him right back.

"Ruby Washington," she finally offered. She pulled off a plastic glove and stuck out her hand.

"Jim Ellison," Jim put out his own hand, and she took it in a firm grip that lasted just a half-second too long for comfort.

"Got work to do here, so take a seat or go help the cutie, your choice." Ruby walked past Jim to return to what was obviously her work station at a prep table on the opposite side of the kitchen from the cooking stations. A large steel prep table running down the middle of the kitchen separated the two sides. Jim glanced toward the far side where a young man worked at the huge cook top and the older woman at the fryer. Two men who had to be at least sixty operated a commercial dishwasher, one rinsing and shoving racks of dishes into the monster while the other pulled them out the opposite end.

A quick scan of the dining room with his hearing told him that Blair was deep in conversation with a man who thought he'd been in Napoleon's army. Territory checked, Jim turned toward Ruby and leaned against her steel prep table.

Ruby had plopped down on an old stool repainted white with flecks of sixties-green showing through as she started working on the mountain of raw, whole chickens.

"The stores send up their stuff on the last day before it goes off," she said as she picked up a knife and started cutting them with efficient strokes. The woman who was working the fryers coughed, the sort of cough that provided a not-so-subtle disapproval or perhaps a reminder of some sort for Ruby. Jim glanced toward the woman who stared back at him for a second with a suspicious expression and cold green eyes, before turning away so that he couldn't see much except her salt and pepper hair and her stiff back.

"Efficient," Jim commented as he looked around. Blair came back through the doors with the empty potato pot, but by the time he got it to the dishwasher, the younger man on the cook top thrust a pan of something into his hands. Blair shot Jim a helpless look and then headed back out front.

"Boy's a good sport," Ruby commented. With three sure knife strokes, she had halved the chicken and cut off the neck. She switched to a slightly smaller knife and quickly separated drumstick from thigh from wing from breast. "So, I hadn't heard he'd started working with a Sentinel."

"Blair and I started working together after we both decided we could do more together than apart," Jim said vaguely. Ruby studied him as she neatly butchered the next chicken.

"You feel like an apple?" Ruby asked with a nod toward the refrigerators. "Think there might just be one in there."

"Nah, I'm tempted, but I just had lunch," Jim fed her the second half of the code Blair had explained before they'd decided to come here together. Ruby narrowed her eyes and studied him.

The kitchen noise faded. The fryer woman paused, a chicken leg in her hand hovering over the oil. The dishwasher guys stared. The young man turned and stared at them with wide eyes. Then the moment passed and the kitchen bumped back to full efficiency.

"You look familiar." Ruby brought the knife down, calmly halving a chicken.

"Blair tells me I was famous down in Houston. They called me some sort of avenging Sentinel for taking out some terrorists on the trains," Jim admitted.

Ruby's knife thumped down again and then she paused and really studied his face before nodding. "The Ranger-boy. Magna had you coming through a day or two after..." Ruby made a vague gesture with her knife. Jim looked over at the kitchen staff in concern.

Laughing, Ruby halved another chicken. "Honey, if any of these were going to turn my ass in, they would have done it a long time ago."

"Don't think we aren't considering it after you made us clean all the grease traps," the young man teased as he opened a bag of peas and dumped it in boiling water. Jim could smell gravy starting to burn in another pan just as the kid pulled it off the burner.

"Peter," the older woman hissed, clearly shocked.

"Let the boy play, Rhonda. He knows that if he ever tried, I'd have his balls as a new coin purse," Ruby laughed even louder. The older woman gave Peter a nasty glare before she came over to grab a new pile of chicken parts.

"You're a Sentinel," Jim said confidently. Ruby's knife work was too confident, too quick to slip between the bones without more than a glance down, the kitchen was too clean, despite all the activity. Rhonda stopped, the pan of chicken parts in her hands and an expression like she was ready to attack Jim with her bare hands in her eyes. "No skin off my nose. I admire that you've steered clear of the SI," Jim hurried to add. He could easily take a sixty year old woman whose only weapon was a pan of raw chicken, but he didn't exactly want to. Ruby looked at him for a second, and then put her knife down.

"You're good. I don't usually get spotted so quick."

"Clean kitchen."

"I know you're not suggesting that a woman can't keep a clean kitchen without being a Sentinel," Ruby said dryly.

"To clean the inside of the light fixtures and to have drains so clean that I can't smell any mold from them... that's a level of clean that I only expect from a Sentinel," Jim explained.

"Guess you'll just have to ease up on how much you make us clean, huh, Ruby?" Peter asked with undisguised amusement.

"Just you mind your own business," Ruby answered. Just then Blair came back through and dropped the new pan at the dishwasher and avoided Peter as he came over to where Ruby and Jim sat talking.

"Ruby, hey, we need to talk."

"I've been having a good talk with Jim here."

"We've been talking about how Ruby is a Sentinel," Jim agreed.

"Ruby... what?" Blair did a double take so comical that Jim bit his cheek to avoid laughing. "Ruby?!" Blair blinked.

"Oh honey, I told you that I didn't ever have to worry about bein' arrested," Ruby shrugged as she pulled another chicken out of the quickly diminishing pile. "Did you think I meant that the police are so fond of black folks that they'd go out of their way to not arrest me?"

"Jesus." Blair breathed the word and took a step backwards so he could lean on the center prep table.

"You watch your mouth," Ruby threatened with the point of her knife. "I won't have you using the Lord's name in vain in my kitchen."

"You're a Sentinel and you turned other Sentinels in," Jim commented calmly. The kitchen staff and Blair all glared at him, but Jim focused on Ruby. She pursed her lips and considered that for a second.

"Ruby saved me when I was ready to tear my own skin off," Peter snapped as he abandoned his station and came around the center prep table. Jim stood up straight, and he noticed that Blair stepped forward as the young man came toward them, stiff with anger. "It kills her every time she has to call those assholes, so don't come in here and pass judgment on her," Peter snapped.

"No one's judging," Blair hurried to say, holding out one placating hand toward Peter while his other hovered near his waist where he had his weapon.

"Like hell." Peter still sounded furious, but he stopped near the corner of the prep table.

"I have a right to my opinion. I've been in the SI. I know what they do," Jim defended himself, despite Blair's unhappy noise.

"And do you know what it feels like when your own skin is on fire?" Peter demanded angrily.

"Yes." Jim stared back.

"Hey, hey, let's all calm down here," Blair interjected.

"No, let 'em have their say. I've questioned myself often enough that Jim's got a right to do the same."

"Ruby, you only call the goon squad when they're half out of their mind. Mr. IntheSystem here doesn't get that." Peter glared toward Jim.

"Peter, I've been the one who came when Ruby called. I saw them." Blair said quietly, and then Jim felt the hand on his arm. "Man, when Ruby calls, they're out of their minds. You remember that Sentinel who was so confused that he couldn't tell me Kincaid's guys were there? Remember me telling Aldo how he knocked me into the wall and made me lose my gun when the gunmen came at us?" Blair asked. Jim glanced down at his partner. He did remember that, and the memory of the fear that had come from Blair as he described that moment... Jim let his arm come up and rest across Blair's shoulders, pulling him in toward Jim's body, and even now, Jim could feel a slight tremor in Blair.

"When Ruby calls, they're hurting so bad they're past rational thought. I don't know what Kincaid did, or I do with all the drugs and those god-awful pits we found at the warehouse, but Jim," Blair paused. "Sometimes they do need drugs. The ones Ruby calls on can't be rational, not right then."

"Blair," Jim said tensely. He didn't want to have this conversation here, not now.

"Guess it comes down to the fact that all God's children do what they have to, what they think is right," Ruby interjected, her knife coming down on another chicken. "Peter, you have food on that stove, and if you burn it, you will be scrubbing my pans all night. Blair, they need more chicken on the line. Rhonda's got some ready."

"I'll get it," Jim said before Blair could answer. "Blair needs to talk to you." Turning away from Peter's hot glare, Jim headed around the table and grabbed the chicken from the station next to Paula. Ironically, her stare had softened some.

Jim headed out to the front of Ruby's little kingdom, and here, not even a Sentinel's cleaning standards could dampen the stench. Over a hundred bodies pressed into the space. Dirty children, drunk men, a woman who wore a dozen layers of clothes and stunk so badly of sweat and urine that Jim had to brace himself for a second, his eyes watering.

"Hey, you're new," a younger woman with plastic gloves said as she grabbed the pan from him. "Thanks."

"No problem, you need help?" Jim asked. He narrowed his eyes and ruthlessly tamped down on his sense of smell as an old man with a snarled beard came up and held out his plate with an almost toothless smile.

"I told you Rhonda did a killer fried chicken," the woman offered the man as she handed over a drumstick.

"I should marry the woman," the guy answered, smiling even wider.

"Yeah, well I think Jeb might have a thing or two to say about that since he got her to the altar first," she laughed as the old man wandered away and the line of customers he'd broken into resumed.

"I'm Alicia," the girl offered as she used her shoulder and upper arm to push her thick glasses higher on her nose. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and Jim guessed she was in her early twenties.

"Jim Ellison."

"Nice to meet you," she said, handing out chicken with one hand and mashed potatoes with the other. Spoons clattered as she dropped one into the potatoes and used another to offer gravy.

"Talk later, serve now," said a sour faced man in a priest's collar. He was busy cutting pieces of bread from stacks of French bread loaves. At the same time, he was trying to hand out the bread, serve vegetables to the few who would accept them and drop a little plastic wrapped brownie on each tray.

"Let me help," Jim offered as he stepped between them.

"Grab me a pile of brownies. I can do brownies and chicken while you do potatoes. Father Joe can handle the rest," Alicia suggested.

"Right now, I'll happily hand over any part of this. The next time your volunteers don't show up..." Father Joe sighed and picked up the box of prewrapped brownies and brought them down to Alicia's end. "Who am I kidding? The next time your volunteers don't show up, I'm hanging a sign on the church and coming down here again. Ruby really should have been a nun. I've never known a woman to be that pushy without being a nun," he muttered as he took up the bread knife again.

Jim slipped on the gloves Alicia tossed his way and scooped out portions of mashed potatoes and offered gravy as the plates now slid past him a little faster. Several frowned at his collar or hesitated, but the lure of food was more powerful than the vague fear. Jim wondered if they were more afraid of the urban legends about Sentinels going on rampages or the very real fear that he probably worked with the cops. Jim knew he would have taken off if he'd seen a Sentinel working any of the soup kitchens he'd ever stopped at. In fact... Jim watched as a woman stood and slipped half eaten food into oversized pockets before heading for the door.

Jim noted her face as he focused his hearing on the kitchen behind him.

"... on Sentinels. Jim's right. The whole Sentinels can't control themselves myth is giving people an excuse for the sort of prejudice that we totally wouldn't put up with if it were any other group. I mean, people who tried to claim women are inherently emotional and irrational were pretty much laughed out of science back in the... okay, so it wasn't that long ago, but still."

"Slow down there, Sweetie. You don't have to convince me of that."

"Shit. I can't believe. I mean, how many times did you have me and Rick in here? Damn you have..." Blair's voice trailed off, and Jim nodded and smiled at the woman in line in front of him. Most of the people at the tables were women, quite a few with children.

Ruby laughed, and Jim focused on that sound so that the steady roar of the voices in the dining room faded. "Honey, just because I don't have cojones doesn't mean I don't have cojones. But your friend is right; I've made some choices that keep me up at night."

"No way. You're putting your neck out there, and I've seen the Sentinels you call for help with. And Jim is probably out there growling at me because I know he's listening, but you totally did not have a choice. Totally."

Jim rolled his eyes and gave the next person potatoes, taking over the chicken and brownie station when Alicia went to the kitchen for more chicken. As far as he was concerned, a good night's sleep, clean clothes, and a good meal could solve most any problem a Sentinel had. The silence from Blair and Ruby gave Jim a chance to scan the dining room. Jim had eaten in plenty of places like this during his run, but he had to admit that Ruby ran the best one he'd seen. The place was clean if you ignored the filth the customers brought in with them, the food wasn't burned, and there was enough that no one seemed to be fighting over it.

Ruby sighed as she finally answered Blair, her voice soft. "Sweetie, if the answer were that easy, I wouldn't spend so much time wondering about what I've done. But it's water under the bridge. Grab that pan."

"Oh man, I wish I could see it that way. Yeah, I've done rescues from some slavers, but I've brought in runners..." Someone in the kitchen dropped a pan and then was mighty noisy about picking it up. Jim guessed Peter. Jim flinched at Peter's obvious anger being so near his Guide.

"Blair?" Ruby asked as Blair turned uncharacteristically silent. Jim could hear him move around, but he didn't try and pick up the conversation where Peter had cut it off.

"Ruby, we need more?" Rhonda asked in the awkward silence.

"They sound pretty full out there. I don't think we need to dig into the emergency supplies tonight." Ruby was all business, but the moment she started speaking to Blair, Jim could hear that softer tone sneak back into the woman's words. "Blair, if you came looking for some answers, I'm sorry to say I have more questions than answers myself."

"It's not easy," Blair finally admitted, and Jim knew that tone. That was Blair's monstrous guilt climbing out of his soul. "You know? Totally not easy knowing that you took people who were doing fine and handed them over to the SI."

Another pan went south, and Jim couldn't decide what bothered him more: Peter's pan banging or Blair's guilt.

"Can you guys finish up?" Jim asked as he eyed the remaining line. Peter was far too close to his Guide to be trusted.

"Great. You're leaving us," Father Joe said with a pained sigh.

"I'll try to come back and help another day," Jim apologized as he backed away. He'd been to church often enough growing up that the guilt of abandoning the priest bothered him; it just didn't bother him enough to leave his Guide with Peter.

"Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora," the priest muttered, and Jim could only hope he wasn't getting cursed out in Latin as he backed through the door into the kitchen. Peter was moving pans from his cooking station to the dishwashing station with a maximum of slamming, and Blair was wandering the prep table, picking up the stray utensils and dishes that had migrated to the center of the room.

"Ruby," Jim said as he walked over toward the woman. She stood by the back door, empty boxes near her feet. "I apologize. I don't agree with what you've done, but you've put your life and your freedom on the line to do the right thing, and that counts for a lot. It's more than most people will do." Jim held out his hand as a peace offering to Ruby, but her eyes flicked toward Blair. Her lips twitched as she held out her hand, still looking at Blair.

"Apology accepted. We all do what we have to in this world, and hopefully we end up doing right, but until we get to the good Lord, who knows. We might all just have our heads up our asses. Part of being human is admitting that you aren't God and don't have the answers and forgiving yourself when you think you might have made a mistake." Ruby kept her gaze on Blair, and when Jim glanced over, he was hiding behind those long curls of his. Ruby sighed. "You look like the least likely of us to get mugged, so you get trash duty, Ranger-boy," Ruby gestured toward the stack of boxes on the floor before heading back toward the door to the walk-in refrigerator.

"So, I know you didn't bring your cute ass over here to save me from a lack of volunteers, and I hope you didn't come here to wail about the unfairness of the universe," Ruby said to Blair. "What brings you down here, tonight?"

"Oh man. You may question what you've done, but I know I fu... screwed up," Blair cringed back away from his own admission. Jim paused in the middle of crushing a box and considered going to his Guide's side, but then the man shook off the heaviness and gave Ruby one of his impish smiles. "But hey, owning your own mistakes is the first step toward fixing them. And yeah, I can't undo them, but I can try to make the world better, which is why I'm writing a paper on Sentinels."

"You mean, Sentinels as guinea pigs?" Peter demanded. Jim crushed the potato box just a little too enthusiastically in warning.

"No way. I would never treat a Sentinel that way. Eli Stoddard and I have co-written a paper on how the SI is messing Sentinels up, sheltering them so much that they don't have the control when they come out. And I'm writing my dissertation on Sentinels and control, and my hypothesis is that this whole society is so screwed up that we're teaching young Sentinels to not have any self-control. I mean, no way can anyone claim American Sentinels don't have anger-management issues because I've seen the stats, but maybe we can show people that any group of teenagers who were told they could get away with throwing fits would get a little... you know..."

"Obnoxious?" Ruby finished for Blair, giving Peter an amused look that made it very clear there was a story or two there. Peter blushed.

"Totally." Blair nodded. "I went to the university at sixteen, and I was a complete goober because my mom wasn't there with this disapproving, disappointed look she always used when I was a goober around her."

"Yeah, but the parents of Sentinels are told to just let them do anything," Peter said softly. "It's hard to know right from wrong when no one will tell you when you're wrong."

"Exactly," Blair agreed. "And someone has to start somewhere, so I'm going to start by proving that the whole system is looking at this wrong. I don't know if it will make any difference..."

"Baby, I think Martin Luther King himself must have had that thought a time or two. But change has to start somewhere. You have a problem, though. You make waves, and they're going to make you sorry." Ruby leaned against the refrigerator door and looked meaningfully at Jim.

"Yeah, it sucks. So, dissertation and then maybe a nice long trip to the South of France," Blair shrugged.

"I'd suggest somewhere a little farther... more like Mars," Ruby muttered, as she pulled open the refrigerator door.

"Ruby, Rhonda and I need to head home. The grandkids are coming in tomorrow," one of the dishwashers said as he pulled off his apron. The woman who'd made the fried chicken moved close to his side.

"Thanks for the help, Jeb," Ruby called without coming out of the refrigerator.

"Mr. Ellison, Mr. Sandburg, if you need anything, Ruby has our number," the man said as he turned toward Jim. Jim looked at him for a moment, and he must have had a confused expression because the man shrugged and answered Jim's unspoken question. "The Quakers have been fighting slavery for three hundred years. The church has publicly taken the stand that what is done to Sentinels is immoral in the eyes of God."

"Thanks," Jim said as he accepted the hand Jeb held out.

"Let us know if you need anything," Rhonda agreed with her husband before they both headed out through the front. Out there, spotlights discouraged any crime, and Jim realized that Ruby probably used her hearing to keep track of the area. She was a true tribal Sentinel with her own little territory in the heart of the city. He crushed the last box and pulled the back door open before scooping an armful up so he could drop them in the dumpster.

"So, why come to me with this story of yours?" Ruby called from inside the refrigerator. Jim could hear her shove boxes from side to side as he hurried to finish his chore and get back inside.

"I was hoping to test some runners, to show that they have control over their senses and instincts. I know it's just step one, but..."

"Testing?" Ruby came out of the refrigerator, her mouth opened and closing before she finally spoke. "Blair, most of us living outside the system—we've spent a lifetime trying to avoid testing. That kind of paperwork trail..."

"No way. No. That would not happen."

"Honey, don't be so quick to dismiss it. I've seen the government do some pretty ugly shit. I'm old enough to remember the dogs being turned loose on protesters. Don't just tell me it won't happen." Ruby came out of the refrigerator and pushed the door closed behind her.

Now Blair chewed on his lip.

"Blair asked me once if my country was worth trying to change. If I would risk my life to make the country better the way I risked it to defend the country," Jim interjected. Ruby's eyes came to rest on him, and Jim waited as she thought that through.

"America never was America to me," Ruby said, her distant voice making it clear she was quoting something or someone.

"Could this change things? Change the way the SI tells people to treat their kids?" Peter asked. The young man had to be in his early or mid-twenties, but the way he asked the question, all big blue eyes and open vulnerability, he looked about sixteen.

"Maybe," Blair answered. "It would get another story out there. Yeah, the SI would probably still tell parents to do the same stuff, but maybe parents would read a magazine article or see someone on some news program talking about this new study. It might give people the idea they should at least think about it. Or it might just get buried in some academic journal that everyone ignored," Blair admitted the last part sadly.

"You can test me," Peter blurted quickly. "I don't always have the best control, but Ruby says I'm getting better."

"You are, Baby," Ruby reassured him. "Blair, how are you going to keep Peter out of danger? If he gets picked up because of something you write or say, I swear, I'll make a coin purse out of your cojones."

"No names. There won't be anything in any paperwork with names. And I'll make up enough details to throw off anyone who tries to backtrack me. And no one will see this except Eli until I submit it to my committee. And yeah, there's some danger there, but these are anthropologists. And legally the committee can't do anything with it until I defend. And trust me, the day I defend, I am so out of here. I won't be around for the cops to threaten with contempt."

Ruby gave a huff. "You do remember you are a cop, right?"

Blair paused. "I just wanted to help people. I'm starting to think becoming a cop wasn't the best way to do that."

Jim couldn't stand back any more. He moved forward and caught Blair around the shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Blair leaned into that embrace, closing his eyes for a second, and Jim wished he could carry this guilt for Blair. The young man he'd met at the airport had been so confident, so pure in his intentions. And that kid had annoyed Jim with his naïve world-view, but sometimes Jim wished he could find a world where he could let Blair stay that kid without being weighed down with guilt and uncertainty.

"I'm going to regret this," Ruby sighed. "I'll do your tests."

Blair smiled weakly. "Hey, thanks. And I didn't know you were a Sentinel, so I actually wanted permission to talk to people in your dining room. Eli thinks that other Sentinels are probably living on the streets."

"I think I spotted one. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, shoulder-length blonde hair, brown eyes," Jim added.

Ruby nodded as if she knew the woman in question. "I'll talk to a couple of people, but you don't go to my customers, not in here and not near here. If you scare them away, they won't have anywhere else to go," Ruby warned.

"Deal," Blair quickly agreed, holding his hands up in surrender. Then one hand slipped around Jim's waist, hugging him in return.

"You do know it's not all about the Sentinel, right?" Ruby asked. "You've got your own thing going on here too." Ruby waggled her finger between Jim and Blair.

"You mean they're kudari?" Peter asked, his voice now taking on the bright tones of a child at Christmas. "The way you and..."

"Kudari?" Blair immediately pounced on the word, stepping forward out of Jim's embrace.

Ruby smiled, her face going from tough broad to a stereotype of a grandmother in a blink. "Old word for bonded. Only, it means more like a mutual embrace. It's what happens when a Sentinel finds his Beshte."

"Beshte?" Blair did a little bounce.

"His friend, his companion," Ruby clarified. "They're old words, from before the slave ships even."

"Oh man. You mean... African Americans have kept some of their pre-slavery stories of Sentinels?" Blair demanded, and all the guilt and uncertainty vanished under that enthusiastic light that would infuse Blair when he found that one bit of information that really intrigued him. Jim smiled fondly at his Guide.

"Oh honey, blacks have held on to more than a few stories. You ever notice that there just aren't that many black Sentinels around, especially not from my generation?" Ruby asked. Jim watched, amused as Blair's brain slipped the puzzle pieces into place. He spun around and slapped his hand on the prep table, all the time with a huge grin on his face that made Jim want to fuck the man.

"They're hiding them. Oh man. The whole subculture. It's got a different set of rules. Fuck. What is wrong with me? I so should have seen that. I mean, look at Simon. He totally hates that Sentinels aren't held responsible. Man, most people wouldn't even consider blaming a Sentinel, but Simon totally does. And Joel. Oh man. Shit."

Blair leaned back against the prep table, his heart pounding as he breathed hard.

"Everything okay?" Alicia asked as she stuck her head in the kitchen.

"We're fine. You okay on the line?" Ruby asked, her voice shaded with laughter.

"Other than being stuck with Father Sour, it's all good," Alicia said before she disappeared back through the door.

"Now Blair," Ruby said. "Don't you go lumping all us folk together. There are plenty of black folks who have their heads just as far up their asses as white folks. And in the last forty years, some of the old ways have just been forgotten. It used to be that the black schools didn't even look for Sentinels because we weren't considered anything more than niggers." Ruby spat the word, and Jim could see both Blair and Peter flinch. "But now, they're all interested in finding and properly training our Sentinels to be good law-abiding collar-wearing citizens. And young people are growing up not even knowing the way it used to be, especially up here in the north. Well, I tell you what. If you were black and you lived in the south, you counted on your Sentinel to protect you from the law."

"And the Sentinels had to have control. Man, no way would someone back then have given an African American Sentinel a pass." Blair nodded thoughtfully.

"They'd end up strange fruit hanging from a tree, just the same as any other nigger who got an attitude," Ruby agreed. She sighed, and the anger that had slowly gathered in her now quieted.

"I marched. I was out there trying to claim my rights. I was so proud when it was a woman who started the bus boycotts. You're right," Ruby turned to Jim. "Some things are worth fighting for, even if you risk everything to get them." Ruby took a deep breath and looked at Blair. "I'll find you runners. But as much risk as they're taking to give you this data, you take just as much to keep the cops off their back," she said, poking her finger toward Blair.

"Totally," Blair agreed solemnly. "Oh man. I feel like Howard Carter discovering King Tut's tomb," Blair breathed reverently. "Whole new world. It's a whole new world, man."

"See if you're still this enthusiastic after you've figured out about spirit animals," Ruby suggested dryly. "There are parts of this world that are a giant pain in the ass."

"Spirit animals?" Blair asked, his face tilting toward Jim.

"Don't ask," Jim quickly said, "One paradigm shift at a time, Chief. We don't want to fry that brain of yours before you have a chance to single-handedly save the world."

Blair snorted. "Okay, should I point out that the African American community has had it right this whole time and the Quakers are right there with them, and then there are all those websites I ran across when I was researching, and at the time, I thought they were crackpots, but..." Blair fell silent for a second. "It's all there right in front of our faces, and people still don't see it," Blair said softly. Once again, Jim glimpsed the naïve purity in Blair's heart--the total confusion that people couldn't or wouldn't see the world as he saw it. Jim remembered that look when the judge had considered taking Jim: a total bewilderment that not everyone could see his truth. Jim wasn't even sure if Blair knew how much he'd changed, how much he'd lost touch with his world. Jim slipped his arm around Blair and remembered the words from his dream. What had Incacha said? Blair had strength, but he need to be sheltered. Jim tightened his arm around Blair and vowed that he'd do that.

"Thanks Ruby. We'd better get going," Jim said.

"Nice, duck out right before dragon lady starts demanding the grout be bleached," Peter grumbled good-naturedly. His anger from earlier gone.

"You let them alone. Besides, you can consider this practice for one of Blair's tests. Use that nose of yours to get this place clean enough that I don't have to come back here and make you bleach it," Ruby said. "I have people to check in with."

Ruby disappeared through the door into the dining room, and Jim pulled Blair toward the back, leaving Peter to deal with the last of the cleaning chores. Blair definitely needed some time to process.

FORTY TWO  
***  
"Man, this sucks," Blair walked in the door to the loft and aimed his backpack at the couch with enough force to send it crashing into the arm and then sliding down to the floor. Jim tried and failed to avoid a smile. "Yeah, yuck it up. I am so doing some sort of testing with you next, buddy," Blair threatened. "Test your control during an air raid siren or something."

"Come on. It's only fair for Eli to get in a few of his tests since you're testing the others," Jim commented as he headed for the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. Blair was on the couch glaring at him when Jim handed over the bottle.

"Keep it up, and next time Eli arranges one of his near-accidents for you, I'm pushing you in front of the garbage truck," Blair growled. Jim's smirk grew into outright laughter, which he struggled to cut off as Blair's frown deepened.

"Come on, Chief, your face when something comes flying out of nowhere..." Jim let his words trail off, but after the SI had spent time doing tests that left Jim's ears ringing and his skin trying to crawl off his body, he couldn't actually summon too much sympathy for Blair.

"I'm going to have a heart attack. A fucking heart attack," Blair complained as he took a big drink from his beer. "And why can't I have nice little senses to test? A nice little salt tolerance test, a few strobe lights... but no... Eli is left testing a Guide's ability to fucking freak out." Blair took a bigger drink from his beer.

"We could have the spirit animals talk with him. Maybe if he tortured you a little, that wolf would show up, and he could test that," Jim suggested sarcastically.

"Okay, Eli already thinks I'm a little eccentric, let's not give him the impression that I'm a total lunatic. And I'm still on the fence about whether or not you and Ruby are just shitting me on that one. Peter has never seen strange wild animals wandering through walls."

"He's young," Jim shrugged. "Besides, his guide might be a mouse for all we know, something he wouldn't even notice."

"He'd notice a mouse in Ruby's kitchen." Blair gave a little laugh. "Ruby would have him scrubbing the floor for a month if anyone spotted a mouse."

"Right, so we let Eli stick to testing your ability to fucking freak out." Jim mimicked Blair's words from earlier as he leaned against the wall next to the window and drank his own beer to hide his grin.

"You suck. I can hear you smirking from here," Blair complained as he let his head flop back onto the couch so he stared at the ceiling.

"I certainly can be convinced to suck... and swallow." Jim tried for thoughtful, or maybe salacious, but he just couldn't hold back the laughter.

"Ellison, it's been a bad week and your weird-ass sense of humor is not helping things," Blair complained, but Jim also noticed that the edge of his mouth twitched.

"You should try a week in the desert on survival training. Eating bugs, drinking bitter cactus juice... it gives you perspective on having a bad week."

Blair raised his hand and made a 'blah blah blah' gesture with his fingers for a few seconds before flipping Jim the bird. "One-upmanship. Oh man, stereotypical alpha male behavior. Totally predictable."

"I offer to suck and swallow and you accuse me of being a stereotypical alpha male. Sometimes your brain confounds me, Sandburg," Jim commented. Blair's head tilted up so he could give Jim a longer look.

"A month. Come on. Don't tell me you aren't just a little completely freaking pissed."

"It's one more month. You've already waited years for your doctorate, so I don't think a few more weeks will kill you."

"Eli is totally going overboard. I could finish now. I so do not need to spend a week in Georgia," Blair had a good whine going now, and Jim knew how to cut this complaint off before it went too far. He took a big drink of beer and set the bottle down on the table before stalking toward the couch. Blair had let his head fall back again so he stared at the ceiling, and Jim made sure to move silently. All the better to pounce on his Guide.

"I mean, yeah, under other circumstances, I would totally love to really do an in-depth investigation of the whole subculture, but I could defend now without that. I can't believe Eli is blocking my committee. It's blackmail. Blackmail. I could arrest him for that. I should arrest him for that." Blair tilted his head and looked at Jim, but there was nothing inviting or sexual in the look he gave his Sentinel. Jim sighed.

Giving up on seduction, Jim went back for his beer before he sat on the couch next to Blair. "Is that what you want? Do you really want to push this with Eli?"

Blair sighed. "Man, I hate it when you're right." Blair sat up and let his head rest on his hand. "What we're doing... the dissertation I'm writing... it sounds so close to what the crackpots are out there are claiming that the committee is going to look for ways to shred me." Blair sat up, took a deep breath, and looked at Jim.

"I may not get the dissertation. I mean, that article comes out next week, and I know that's going to get some people talking, but what Eli and I are finding... it's antithetical to everything Sentinel psychology claims right now. I know I need to take this extra time if I hope to actually survive defending, but I'm just not sure it's worth it." Blair didn't voice his fears, they had both learned to avoid saying certain truths and fears out loud, but Jim didn't need Sentinel hearing to hear what wasn't said. He reached out and slipped his arm around Blair's shoulders.

"You just do your thing. Don't worry about the rest," Jim said. "Look, we take the week, we go down to Georgia and do your control tests down there, we let Eli set up a near-accident or two for me and watch your heart stop, and we come home. No big deal."

"I just..." Blair stopped. His hand reached out and rested on Jim's knee.

"Eyes on the prize, Chief," Jim said softly. Blair turned and looked at him with a small smile.

"From stereotype to cliché," he teased. Now Jim rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." Jim threw one of Blair's favorite words back at him, and Blair poked him in the stomach in return. "Besides, I want to meet Maury."

"Okay, that's another thing. I mean, if we really put his name in this paper, the SI is so going after him."

"I think he knows that," Jim agreed. "Chief, he's 82 years old. His Guide is dead. The most the SI can do is move him from a retirement home to a Sentinel retirement home. And this gives him a chance to do one last thing to try and protect his community, to try and fix this whole mess. Besides, the ACLU will drool over a case like this; they'll sweep in there and turn him into either a spokesman or a martyr." Jim could see Blair flinch at the idea of the gentle old man who had guarded his town through the worst of the Civil Rights Era martyred for the cause of Sentinel rights. "He knows the risk. He wants to do this. I'm sure he knows younger Sentinels, ones that he wants to protect from this system."

"You Sentinels and your protective instincts," Blair took another swig of beer.

"You Guides and your protective instincts," Jim countered. Blair choked on his beer.

"Shit. Do you think... I mean, it makes sense. Sentinels are protective of the tribe and Guides are protective of the Sentinels maybe. Oh man, I wonder if Eli is working with that hypothesis."

"You could ask him tomorrow," Jim pointed out. They had two interviews for tomorrow, a Sentinel-Guide pair, or as everyone in Ruby's circle called them, a kudari couple—mutually bonded. Blair had raved for hours when he'd traced the roots of the term back to the Swahili 'kumbatia' meaning to be embraced.

"Oh man, when it comes to Guides, as far as Eli is concerned I am just one of his test subjects. No way will he risk contaminating his results by discussing his hypothesis with me. No, he'll just keep trying to give me a heart attack and record how freaked I get."

"Not feeling the sympathy here, Chief," Jim admitted.

"Even taking into account that it's possible--just possible-- that my protective instincts are going off here, I'm still not okay with outing Maury."

"He's a grown man, Blair, give him the right to make his choices. You're putting your career, your degree, even your own freedom on the line, so respect him enough to admit he has the right to do the same."

"My mom's friend Jim?" Blair asked, smiling at their personal joke.

"Exactly," Jim agreed as he pulled Blair into a hug. "Blair, it's just a month. One week of that will be in Georgia, and another week, you'll be locked in the office cursing at your computer and mumbling vague references to Vygotsky. And then we have the weekend fishing trip with Simon and his son, so it's going to fly by, and before you even know it, you'll be in front of those sharks at the university defending your dissertation."

Blair laughed softly. "You do realize that you're supposed to be the illogical one, right?"

"There's a one weirdo per kudari couple rule, so I'm just trying to keep us within regulations," Jim teased as he ruffled Blair's long hair. "Now, I do believe I made a rather sexually suggestive offer earlier," Jim pointed out. He let his fingers trail through Blair's hair and trace the edge of his jaw. His Guide was a beautiful man.

"Oh, did you?" Blair asked, a smile turning up the edges of his mouth before he licked his lips. Jim watched the tongue appear and disappear. Leaning forward, he claimed Blair's lips, tasting the coffee and the chocolate from a brownie and the musk that was just Blair. Jim moved forward until he pressed Blair back into the couch, the warm body firm and twisting under his hands until Jim was ready to just let go and bury himself in the sensory input. But if he did, he'd come in his pants, and Jim wanted more than a quick rub on the couch. He pulled back.

When Jim sat up, he could see Blair's flushed face as he gasped for breath. "Oh yeah." Blair paused for a second, his eyes skittering away, and Jim cocked his head. Blair still smelled interested, but that was not an interested expression. That looked more worried.

"Blair?"

"Do you think that maybe we could try something different?"

"Different?" Jim echoed. Blair looked up with just a touch of frustration in his eyes.

"Yeah, different, as in not the same."

"You don't... what?" Jim felt vaguely offended. He certainly hadn't heard Blair voice any concerns last time they'd shared blow jobs.

"Man, you have that look, that defensive look," Blair sighed. "You know I love what we do. Love. I'm not just in love with Jim Ellison, I'm head over heels in lust with him, too."

"Which explains why you don't want a blow job?" Jim asked, aggravation starting to worm its way up through his fears.

"Hey, I'm not saying no to anything, but I just thought we might try doing something more," Blair shrugged. Something in Jim's expression must have warned him to back off because Blair held up his hands in surrender. "Bad idea. Totally a bad idea, so just erase the last five minutes, and let's get back to the kissing part." Blair leaned forward, his hand coming up to brush against Jim's cheek, but Jim leaned back to avoid the kiss.

"You want to have sex," Jim said quietly.

"Jim, we already have sex. We've had sex in just about every corner of this apartment. Hell, we embarrassed the hell out of that social worker when we didn't get the place cleaned up fast enough, but hey, that's one way to prove we are well and truly bonded. And right now, you propositioned me, and I'd like to have more sex." Blair's voice lowered in a husky promise, and Jim could feel himself respond to the tone. He stood up and backed off a step before his brains could short circuit with all the blood going south.

"You want penetrative sex," Jim corrected his wording. Blair flushed, his skin pinking.

"Want, yes. Need, totally not. However, I'm going to explode if you don't get over here. Come on, I already said to ignore my big mouth."

"We should talk about this, Chief."

"Talk?" Blair asked, his voice sounding a little shrill. "You want to... talk? Now?"

"Talk," Jim agreed. Blair threw himself back onto the couch and gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm so horny I could explode, and Mr. Stoic Taciturnity decides we need to talk. You're sadistic, man."

"Blair," Jim said helplessly. He took a step forward, bothered more than he could say at the accusation that his behavior was hurting Blair.

"No, hey, talk. I can do talk. Of course, usually when I do talk I have more blood in the big head than the little one, but I'm there with you, man."

"Forget it," Jim said as he turned away.

"Hey, you brought this up."

"No, you did," Jim reminded him.

Blair stopped for a second and thought about that. "Okay, I did, but I also said to forget it."

"Forget that what we do isn't enough," Jim snapped as he grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator.

"Whoa. Put the brakes on that right now. No way did I say that. What we have is like sexual fillet mignon."

"Which you don't seem to like any more."

"I like it a whole lot more than starving," Blair complained as he pulled at the crotch of his pants. His desire might have cooled, but Jim could still see his hard cock pressing against the seam. Jim's own erection had faded. "Okay, this isn't going well. Nice timing Sandburg," Blair accused himself, and Jim took a drink of his beer as he watched his Guide.

"Okay, take two. Jim, I love what we do and you are like sex on a stick. I mean, walk in the room and I'm pretty much ready to go. Hell, I'm ready to go now, and getting kinda freaked because the chances for go seem to be dwindling."

"But you want penetrative sex," Jim finished.

"I just suggested we try it."

"And who bottoms?" Jim asked. He leaned back against the refrigerator and crossed his arms.

"Is that the bug that crawled up your ass and died?" Blair asked. "Oh man. Stereotypical alpha male. Taking it up the ass does not make your testosterone levels drop. I will bottom if it means we're back on track." Blair threw his hands up in exasperation with the whole situation.

"How many men have you been with, Blair?" Jim asked calmly as he took another drink of beer. This was territory he definitely didn't want to get into, but they had to deal with this.

"Three, okay? You need names? Addresses? Personal references?" Blair turned and headed back for the couch where he threw himself down still muttering curses, and Jim knew that he was meant to hear every single one of them.

"How many of them did you bottom for?" Jim asked as he followed. He stood near the chair staring at the colorful Navaho blanket hung on one wall.

"Whoa, that's a little personal. How many have you bottomed for, Ellison?"

"One." Jim answered quietly, his voice little above a whisper, and the color drained from Blair's face as he figured out the only man to ever do that with Jim. Of course, the better description would be the man who did that 'to' Jim.

"Fuck, Jim, I'm an asshole."

"Answer my question. How many of those guys did you bottom for?" Jim asked as he stepped into the living room and sat in the chair.

"One."

"And how many times did you bottom with him?" Jim pressed. He had a pretty good idea about the answer. Blair glanced up, his expression caught between a glare and guilt.

"Twice, okay?"

That was actually once more than Jim expected. "I bet you didn't even enjoy it that much," Jim mused. "Chief, you're a top, and I'm a top. Blair, this is one place where we probably shouldn't go," Jim said softly.

"Hey, I came," Blair protested. Jim looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay," Blair admitted with more than a little cranky in his voice, "I wasn't all that thrilled, but sex is in the brain, man, and I could not let go that much with him. Jim, I'm serious. Yeah, I'll admit that I'm normally a top, but I'm more than willing to bottom. I just want us to take this to another level."

"I don't want you making compromises in bed to try and please me."

"Oh man, the only compromise I'm making here is to not tackle you and rip your clothes off because you offered sex, and I'm feeling a little neglected here. Look, Jim, I do want penetrative sex, and man that is the most unsexy term I have ever heard, but right now, I just want you. However you want."

"Chief, this isn't just about what I want."

"Oh man. Don't go there. You know that whole spiel you just gave me about Maury and choices? Do not assume I can't take care of my own interests. If I didn't want to bottom, I'd tell you. Yeah, it hasn't been my favorite position in the past, but I've never been with you before... well, not like that, so I'm perfectly willing to do a little experimenting.

"And if you don't like it?" Jim asked.

"Then we're right back to fillet mignon," Blair quickly answered. "No problem."

Jim shook his head. "This isn't a good idea. Trying to do something just because of someone else..."

"Get over yourself, Ellison. If I didn't want it, I so wouldn't offer," Blair said as he got up and started stalking toward Jim, his body language mirroring the sexy approach Jim had tried to use just minutes ago when Blair had chosen to ignore him in favor of worrying.

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to flip a switch and turn on the sex?" Jim asked in a teasing voice.

"Yep," Blair agreed. "Fuck me."

"That's about as sexy as calling it penetrative sex," Jim complained as Blair straddled his knees and sat on his lap. "I want to touch you, to slide inside you and make love to you and leave you a puddle of hormones that has lost the ability to form coherent words, but I don't want to 'fuck' you, Blair."

"Words, words, words," Blair dismissed Jim's complaint as he leaned down and initiated the next kiss. Jim let his hands reach up and cradle the sides of Blair's head, fingers tangled in the long curls. Feeling the heat soak into him, Jim bucked up into that firm body. Blair sat up.

"No more words," Jim promised as he stood, half lifting and half pushing Blair so that they stood chest to chest. "Upstairs."

"That's a word," Blair teased. His pupils were so dilated with need that his eyes were almost black, reflecting the light from the kitchen. Jim leaned down and captured that mouth as it opened to say something else. With one arm wrapped around Blair's waist, and the other at the back of Blair's head, Jim took control in a way he never had before. This time when he finally pulled back, Blair looked too stunned to come up with a smartass remark.

Jim reluctantly let his hands fall away from Blair's warmth as he turned and headed for the stairs. He was halfway up before he heard Blair's footsteps following him.

Standing by their dresser, Jim pulled his shirt off, dropping it in the hamper as Blair shed his clothes at the foot of their bed. Another time, Jim might have taken the time to slowly strip Blair, maybe do a strip tease for his Guide, who spent a lot of time watching Jim's body. Jim had started lifting weights with his shirt off because of the way Blair would stop and watch, mesmerized by the muscle. But today, Jim had equal parts excitement and nervousness rattling around in his guts and he let Blair quickly strip before he moved in.

With his palms pressed to Blair's ass, Jim pulled his Guide to his body and lowered his mouth to his neck where he slowly tasted up to Blair's ear.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed and hands grabbed at Jim's back. Jim squeezed, and Blair gasped. Pushing forward, Jim pressed Blair so that the back of his legs touched the mattress, and then he wrapped his arm around Blair's waist as he dropped them onto the bed.

Jim held Blair close as they bounced and then settled onto the mattress. While Blair watched with dark eyes, Jim shifted them both up the bed until they rested comfortably in the middle. Words never had been Jim's strongest suit, so he went with what he knew. Barely skimming his palms over Blair's exposed body, he felt the subtle tremors as he allowed his fingers to linger over one spot or another. He caressed the curve of a hip. He lightly ran a fingernail over a nipple. He tickled the spot where hip and leg met.

By the time Jim finished, Blair had reached up to grab the railing. His eyes were closed, and his whole body twisted in time with his labored breathing. Jim pressed a kiss to the head of Blair's swollen and moist cock. Before Jim could take it in his mouth properly, Blair bucked up and came, his come splattering over his own stomach.

"Bu... Wha..." Blair managed to mumble in confusion as the blood slowly returned to his brain.

"Shhhh," Jim said, reaching up to run a finger over Blair's lips, stroking the soft skin for a second before reaching over to the bedside table. He retrieved the lube and opened it while Blair watched silently, sated and more curious than lusting now. That's what Jim wanted. Jim didn't want his Guide so lost in the need to come that he would do anything. And Jim really didn't want Blair tense and tight with lust... not this first time.

Jim reached down, and Blair bent his legs, and tilted his ass. When Jim glanced up, Blair was watching with a small smile that gave Jim all the permission he needed.

Jim slipped a slicked finger inside easily, watching Blair who wasn't particularly aroused, but he wasn't bothered by the contact either.

"God, you're gorgeous. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you," Jim whispered as he started pressing deeper in Blair's body, searching for the prostate gland. Yep, Blair sucked a deep breath and the smell of pheromones blended with the musk of Blair's come. Jim felt the small gland and teasingly ran his finger over it as he leered at Blair's body spread out for him.

Blair sucked in another breath, his cock not hardening, but subtly darkening.

When he pulled his finger out, Jim could see Blair shift, nervousness or desire or maybe just an itching shoulder prompting a series of small movements that made his muscles shift under his skin. Jim watched, the shadows playing over the dips and curves as Jim pressed two slick fingers in.

"I wish you'd take off your shirt when you lifted," Jim whispered. "I'd like to watch you. I'd like to see the sweat caught on your arm hairs, a bead running down your exposed backbone. I'd watch the muscles tighten under all that warm skin." Jim temporarily lost track of his own thoughts when Blair moaned and tightened his ass around Jim's fingers.

Jim braced his hand on the mattress and took a few deep breaths to force back his own need to come.

"Oh yeah," Blair encouraged, and Jim started working his fingers in and out. Blair slowly relaxed, and Jim's fingers moved more easily. With a quick bit of clever work with the lube, Jim worked a third finger inside, and now Blair threw his head back, breathing in both lust and discomfort, his throat arched out, his feet pressed into the mattress.

"So sensual. So sexy," Jim assured his lover, struggling to find the words because Blair wanted them. Blair's hands flew to the railing, strong fingers wrapping around the steel as his back arched.

"Do it," Blair hissed. Jim could smell the pheromones, watch as Blair's sated cock slowly filled, hear the wild pounding of his heart and the breathy moans.

Jim pulled his fingers out and took just a second to enjoy the sight of a debauched and hungry Blair stretched across the rumpled white sheets.

"Not lasting long," Jim said as he put lube on his own aching erection and pressed slowly at Blair's entrance. Blair braced his feet on the bed, physically lifting himself and exposing his ass as Jim inched forward. The pressure on Jim's cock was so intense, the heat so immediate that Jim stopped, struggling to dial down before he came.

"Jim?" Blair strangled the word, making the syllable foreign and exotic, and Jim started pressing forward again. He focused on Blair's neck, the curve, the goose pimples that made the tiny hairs stand on end, the Adam's apple traveling his neck with each nervous swallow.

Eventually, Jim had pressed all the way in, and he let himself rest, hands on either side of Blair's body, head hanging as he struggled to get some control.

"Oh god," Blair made a mantra of the phrase. "Oh god. Oh god." Feet brushed against Jim's legs as Blair twitched under him. Closing his eyes, Jim pulled back, his whole body tightening in anticipation as Blair squeezed. Slowly, Jim started thrusting, listening to the ragged breathing and feeling Blair's breath skim over his skin and hearing Blair's heart pound and the blood pushing through his veins.

Shifting, Jim felt when he hit the right angle. Blair gasped and stiffened, fingers scrambling at Jim's shoulders as he finally loosened his own control and started thrusting faster now. Blair's mantra speeded up with him.

"Oh god. Oh fucking.... oh yeah. God." Blair twisted, and a foot landed on Jim's calf, the heat of Blair's body searing him as Jim lost all coherent thought and rammed into Blair, his desire overwhelming every sense as he sank into Blair, became a part of the heaving body below him. Blair came again, a weak spray of come joining the drying splatters already on his stomach, and Jim felt himself fall over the edge with his Guide. He pressed deep into Blair and came in powerful waves that sent the world spinning.

Sill buried deep in Blair, Jim collapsed, his trembling arms refusing to hold his weight. He laid still, his own racing heart in sync with Blair's, their musk so heavy that Jim imagined he could see the cloud surround them. Slowly, Jim rolled, pulling free of Blair and that enveloping heat that had surrounded him. He landed beside Blair. Blair lay on his back, his eyes still staring up blankly, and Jim spooned to his side, draping a leg over Blair's thighs.

"You okay?" Jim finally asked when Blair showed no signs of immediately recovery.

"Told you so," Blair finally managed, a wicked smile slowly creeping in place as he turned and looked at Jim.

"You told me so?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Totally, man. You were worried that we wouldn't work, but that... fuck... that worked," Blair nodded. "That totally worked." Blair paused for a second. "Totally."

Reaching up, Jim brushed sweaty strands of hair away from Blair's face. "Yeah, you told me so," Jim admitted with a smile of his own. "I have to let you be right every once in a while or you'll get a complex on me."

"Booger," Blair accused him with a random poke to the stomach. Jim might have continued the fight, but he suddenly felt so tired, he didn't care about being called a booger. He didn't care that the light on the dresser was still on. He didn't care that his beer was sitting somewhere downstairs and the loft would probably smell like a brewery tomorrow. All he cared about was the man dozing contently in his arms in the middle of a sticky mess. Jim reached down and pulled the sheet up and over them as he wrapped his arms around Blair, listening as Blair slipped into sleep.

FORTY THREE  
***  
"Hey hon," Ruby called as Jim came through the back door. "You bring the annoying one today?" she asked with a narrow-eyed glare. She crossed her arms, a spatula in one hand so that Jim thought of a warrior brandishing a sword.

"You're safe from testing," Jim promised with a laugh. "He's finishing up with the last bit of his dissertation. It's my day off from work, so instead of sitting around and watching him obsess over that computer, I thought I'd give you a hand," Jim offered. He grabbed an apron from the hooks on the wall.

"You're always welcome." Ruby paused a second before sighing. "Course, Blair is always welcome, too, but I don't mind saying that I appreciate a break every once in a while. I swear that boy is hard on me just so I'll find some other guinea pig for him to test and give me a break," Ruby complained as she turned back to the grill.

"He didn't make you try to count flashing red lights while running the treadmill," Peter complained. "I'm still trying to figure out what that means other than I can't run and count, which is a little like when my father used to tell me I couldn't walk and chew gum."

Peter had the fryers today. He used a French fry cutter to quickly slice potatoes before throwing them in.

"Kitchen or line?" Jim asked.

"Start by getting two more pans of those carrots going; I ran out of time. A little orange juice and some butter'll give 'em a nice glaze, but watch that butter. Johnston's store has been sending some supplies that are already off."

Jim didn't point out that as a Sentinel he knew rancid butter just as well as Ruby. This was her kitchen and her kingdom, so he just sniffed the yellow sticks as she watched him, her spatula flipping the sandwiches all lined up like soldiers on the flat grill.

"We ready to open the doors?" Rhonda asked as she stuck her head in from the dining room. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun and Jim could see Jeb standing behind her.

"The first sandwiches are coming off now," Ruby agreed as she started flipping the food off onto flat pans. "Peter, that first bunch of carrots ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," he quickly agreed. He took a fork and stuck it into a pan already bubbling on the stove.

"Well, get them out on the line then."

Jim listened as a much smaller lunch crowd came through the doors, lured by a spot out of the foggy drizzle and the promise of good food. Most of Ruby's regulars would stay out begging over lunch, though. They'd come tonight.

"So, does he think his dissertation is going to get past those great stuffed shirts?" Ruby asked.

"If he's half as enthusiastic with them as he is around the loft, they'll give him the degree just to shut him up."

Ruby laughed. "The boy does have what my grandmother would have called an excess of conviction."

"That's one way of putting it. Annoying little shit would be the other way," Jim pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, but you love the annoying little shit anyway." Ruby nodded knowingly. "It was the same with Roger. I used to tell that boy he was going to get his ass killed if he didn't stop doing stupid shit, and then he has to go and get killed by cancer." Ruby paused, her spatula drifting over the grill. "I always told him I'd chase him to the next world and kick his ass if he went and got dead on me." Ruby fell silent. With jerky motions, she started flipping sandwiches with a single-minded focus.

"One of these days you can follow through on that threat," Jim said softly, moving over to the cutting board and tackling the potatoes Peter had left uncut. Ruby reached up with a hand and wiped her eyes.

"Oh honey, I plan to, as long as the idiot managed to get himself up to St. Peter. Otherwise, I'll have to head down south and drag his ass up there myself."

"I hurt when I had to leave Incacha, but if I lost Blair..." Jim allowed his words to fade away, not even wanting to look at the black hole that would leave in his soul.

"Know what you mean," Ruby nodded. "I would have laid down and died, just followed Roger to the next world out of grief, except this place wouldn't hold together for five minutes without me to kick some ass."

Jim focused on the potatoes, not even wanting to imagine being caught between following your Guide to the next life or leaving your territory where people depended on you. Jim had no problem with leaving Cascade. He'd transferred most of his money through his father's lawyers and Blair had already applied for visiting professor status at three different universities overseas with Eli's blessing and help. Jim could do that. He wasn't unique in Cascade... the people didn't actually need him.

But if Ruby left, people might go hungry. The free kitchen might not survive considering that it was Ruby's forceful personality and the subtle application of her considerable skills as a Sentinel that kept the place going. God help the store owner who lied to her about not having any produce to donate. But to keep going after her Guide died... the last of Jim's reservations about Ruby had faded when he'd heard that story. She was a strong woman.

"Sometimes I still hear him, you know?" Ruby finally asked, her spatula clicking against the flat griddle. "I see his owl more often than I see my own spirit guide, so I guess cancer didn't really take him away, but sometimes it does feel like it. I would have liked being able to tell people about Roger, about him being my Beshte. If Blair pulls this off, maybe I can."

"Maybe you can," Jim agreed.

"You think he has a real chance?" Ruby sounded hesitant.

"Him alone, no," Jim shook his head. "But I had no idea, Ruby. I had no idea how many Sentinels were living under the radar. Georgia was an eye-opener." Jim dropped a load of fries into the fryer and struggled to explain his thoughts on Georgia. "They aren't just doing okay, they're valued."

"It was a different world, honey. I grew up knowing to always protect our Sentinel and trust our Sentinel to protect us from those ugly honkies with nothing better to do than hassle us."

"Maury," Jim said.

"Yeah, Maury. He was a tough old bird. Watched him crawl through a muddy river with twigs stuck in his hair for camouflage to rescue a couple of twits who tried taking on the Klan back in the day. He and Delia were quite the pair. Gram described Delia as having a belly full of fire and Maury as being the rock that didn't mind a few scorch marks."

"When this comes out, the SI is going to take him." Jim knew that Ruby was well aware of that fact, but the man was her uncle. Despite his earlier lecture to Blair about letting the man choose his own path, now that he'd met the man, he felt more than a little guilt. Knowing what they did in there... Jim grimaced in disgust.

"Don't you worry. If Maury ever has a bad day in there, he'll make sure their day is three times worse. He might not have a mean bone in his body, but the man has a wicked sense of justice."

"Out of fries," Peter said as he stuck his head through the swinging door.

"Two minutes," Jim said as he focused on his work. He could hear Jeb talking to Rhonda out on the line. "Ten minutes on more carrots," Jim added, listening to a woman asking Rhonda for more.

"Got it." Peter headed for Ruby who held out a pan loaded with grilled cheese sandwiches before heading back out to the serving line.

Jim went back to Ruby's original question about whether or not this whole thing would actually work. "Blair's article with Eli has gone over better than anyone expected. Newsweek called him for a comment, and I thought he was going to bounce out of his skin. Both Blair and Eli insist their research with the free Sentinels is bullet-proof, and Maury is going to be a serious blow to the SI. They may claim Blair and Eli made up all the other figures, but they can't ignore an actual Sentinel who has done what he did. When Blair started this, I really thought he was pissing into the wind." Jim smiled and shook his head. "But now, I think there's a chance. Given everything Blair and Eli are pulling together, it's going to be hard for them to deny reality."

"Oh honey, never underestimate the average person's ability to deny reality." Ruby dropped the last of the third set of sandwiches onto the grill before poking the spatula in Jim's general direction. "Don't you turn those carrots into mush."

"You would've made a great drill sergeant, Ruby."

"Bite your tongue."

Rhonda's voice called shrilly from the front. "What are you doing?" Jim glanced toward Ruby, but she was already heading for the door to the dining room.

"What do you want?" Jeb demanded. His voice was calm, but Jim could hear the strained stress-tone. Something was seriously wrong. If Jim had a weapon, he'd investigate. Instead, he pulled the fries up and headed for the back door. Slipping into the alley, Jim pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"911 emergency, what's your emergency?" the voice on the other end asked politely.

"Decker and 9th, the soup kitchen..." Jim paused, struggling to come up with a cover story that would get someone there fast. "Guys came in with guns," he improvised. Straining his hearing forward, he could hear the sharp orders. If they didn't have guns, Ruby would have told them to shove their head up their asses for talking to her like that, so chances were he was telling the truth.

"How many men?" the 911 operator asked.

"At least three. I snuck out the—" Jim froze. Shit and more shit. He listened as the intruders separated Peter and another Sentinel who had come for lunch. Even worse, they called them Sentinels.

"Sir, sir, are you there?" the voice on the phone called. Jim dropped the phone behind the dumpster, leaving it on so the station could trace it. However, now he had to get Peter and Deborah away from the gunmen before the police showed up. Otherwise, the two of them would go from being in slavers' custody to being SI custody, and in Jim's mind, there wasn't a lot of difference there.

Looking around the alley, Jim found a big nothing available as a weapon. Once again, he cursed a system where an Army Captain could be found incompetent to carry a handgun, but not much he could really do about that now. He had a job. Jim picked up a fallen slat from a wood pallet and tested the weight as a club before he headed for the mouth of the alley.

Now the intruders seemed to be going through the rest of Ruby's customers. Ruby was soothing some crying woman, probably Sierra who had a bad habit of seeing goblins and fairies when she got stressed. This qualified.

At the end of the alley, Jim pressed himself to the brick and glanced around the corner. A white panel van sat in front of the soup kitchen, looking like any other delivery truck dropping off donated supplies. However, this time, the truck was clearly making a pick up. The front of the truck faced Jim, so a surprise attack was going to be impossible.

Jim dropped the board to the ground as he modified his plan. A rusted metal bracket lay on the ground, dropped from some load of trash, and Jim picked it up. Hiding the metal behind his leg, Jim casually walked out to the street, wandering toward the van with the aimless gaze of a random pedestrian. The driver, a Hispanic man with a thin face, glanced toward Jim before focusing his attention back on the door to Ruby's place.

Jim reached the van. Because of how they had parked, Jim was on the passenger side, so this would be a tricky attack. He'd prefer to attack from the driver's side where he could reach in and grab the guy, but people in hell wanted ice water. Turning down his sense of touch, Jim brought his hand up and smashed the metal brace right through the van window.

The driver jumped and cursed, giving Jim time to reach in, pull the lock and yank the passenger side open. Scrambling over the seat, ignoring the scent of his own blood as he went right over the shattered glass scattered across the seat, Jim grabbed the driver's arm just as he reached for a weapon.

Inside the back of the van, Jim could hear scuffling and then the thunk of the van door opening. Pulling back his fist, Jim punched the driver as hard as he could. The man's skull thumped off the driver's side window and his muscles went slack. Jim had the goon's weapon out and pointed at the open passenger side door as Dessy's face appeared.

"Back off," Jim ordered as he twisted around. His position was dangerous: close quarters with a dazed but not unconscious perp at his back and Dessy staring at him with wide eyes. Jim started sliding over the seat back toward Dessy, forcing the man to step away from the truck. Jim got just enough room to swing and brought his elbow up hard, smashing the driver in the side of the head so that he went down for the count.

"Hijo de puta" Dessy cursed.

"He'll live," Jim said coldly. If he'd chosen to land a strike to the man's nose, he wouldn't have, but even now, Jim could hear the irregular breathing as the man struggled toward consciousness. "When your goons get out here, you tell them to let the hostages go." Jim listened as the two gunmen inside finished their task of checking everyone in the dining room. From what Jim could hear, they had separated out three Sentinels: Peter, Deborah, and an old man everyone called Creepers.

"Hostages?" Dessy asked incredulously. "They're Sentinels. But then, so are you, aren't you Mr. Jim Lawson?"

"If they don't let those three go, I will shoot you between the eyes," Jim calmly answered. The weapon was heavy in his hand, but the weight reassured him.

"You really are planning to shoot me, aren't you, amigo?" Dessy pursed his lips and looked at Jim with an almost amused expression. Jim didn't plan to shoot Dessy; he planned to simply hold him here until the police arrived in a matter of seconds. However, he just gave Dessy a small smile that made it very clear he would be willing to shoot the man if he had to.

The door of the soup kitchen came open, and a huge man pulled Peter out into the sunshine, the young man's hands bound behind his back and orange glaze from the carrots splattered across his apron. Jim recognized Dessy's number two guy, Inzunza, from the tattoo crawling up his neck even though he had on a ski mask. A second gunman came out herding Deborah and Creepers with him.

They both stopped at the sight of Jim holding a weapon steadily at Dessy's head. Dessy glanced at Jim and then over towards his goons.

"Shoot them," Dessy ordered. Jim took a step toward Dessy, tightening his finger on the trigger.

"They do it and I'll kill you," Jim snapped.

"Better you than Kincaid. Put the weapon down or I'll have them execute the freaks, you'll shoot me, and then someone else can clean up the mess," Dessy said calmly. Jim tightened his jaw; he'd seen that expression before, the look of cold acceptance.

"Shoot them," Dessy repeated. Jim heard a weapon cock.

"No!" Jim shouted as he raised his weapon, pointing the barrel toward the sky and holding his palm out toward Dessy.

"Put the gun on the seat of the truck and step away," Dessy ordered. Jim obeyed as slowly as he could, praying for the distant sound of sirens, but police just didn't respond that quickly in this neighborhood. Ruby had complained about that often enough. It's why she played peacemaker and enforcer for the three blocks around the soup kitchen.

Dessy nodded, and Inzunza and nameless goon number two pushed the three Sentinels into the back of the van.

"Jim?" Peter called, sounding on the verge of panic as Inzunza forced him up into the open side door.

"You're dead, Dessy," Jim said calmly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides although he was ready to throw himself at any opportunity.

"If I disappoint Kincaid, I will be," Dessy agreed. "I promised him Sentinels, and I expected to find a few more. I guess I'll just have to add you to the collection list. Inzunza had stepped back out of the van, his gun pointed right at Jim.

"I should have fucking killed him. I bet he gave up Washington."

"Probably," Dessy agreed. "However, a live sub is worth more than a dead one." Dessy turned cold eyes to Jim. "Turn around and put hands behind your back."

Jim hesitated for a second, watching the gleeful anticipation in Inzunza as the thug waited for the order to shoot Jim. As Dessy opened his mouth, no doubt to give that order, Jim turned and put his hands behind his back. The goal was survival, and he'd have another shot at taking the assholes down.

Standing silent and searching the streets for sirens that had to be coming, Jim ignored the cold plastic strip zipping closed around his wrists. Inzunza pulled on his arm, and Jim resisted for a second. In the distance, he could hear the faint wail of the police.

"Move it," Inzunza growled, pulling his ski mask off and driving his fist into Jim's side hard enough that Jim suspected he would pee pink the next day. Jim allowed himself to fall to one knee, exaggerating his pained gasps as he struggled to catch his breath.

"He's stalling. He hears cops. Get him up or shoot the pendejo in the head." Dessy hurried around to the driver's side of the van and shoved the still-dazed driver over before he got behind the wheel himself. This time when Inzunza grabbed Jim's arm, Jim stood without complaint. Any excuse and Inzunza was going to leave him lying dead on the sidewalk, and more than anything, Jim did not want to imagine Blair having to see that.

Inzunza pushed him toward the van, shoving him in before jumping in and pulling the van door closed. "Get him in place," Inzunza ordered thug number two, a young man with a hawk-bent on his nose. The van pulled out so suddenly that Jim stumbled and went to one knee again as the guy yanked on Jim's shirt so that Jim went from his knee to his side.

"Get up!" The man pulled on Jim's arm, and Jim got his knees under him and did his best to not flop around helplessly as the thug pushed his back to the side of the van so that he was pressed up against Creepers, shoulder to shoulder. Inzunza crouched near the front and watched, his gun dangling from his hand, as thug number two grabbed Jim's legs and put them on a bar that ran down the length of the van. Jim's calves rested on it, his feet now in the air as the thug used a quick twist of a new plastic zip to secure Jim's legs.

Jim had to admit that the operation had the mark of good planning. With his hands tied and his feet elevated, Jim had no hope of freeing himself. He glanced over, and Deborah had tears streaking down her face. Peter stared at the far wall.

"Is it real this time?" Creepers asked softly.

"Shut up old man," Inzunza ordered, pointing his gun in their direction.

"It feels more real that last time. I keep telling the worries to stay out of my head, but they just creep back. Creep, creep, creep." Creepers started his soft chant, the one that had given him his nickname.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped as he stood.

"He's mentally unstable. Yelling at him won't change that," Jim snapped. He wasn't in a position to do anything, and common sense told him to shut up, but instead he glared at the gunman. Inzunza stepped closer and pressed the barrel of the gun to the underside of Jim's jaw.

"Are you arguing?" Inzunza demanded.

"Hey," the young goon protested softly, but Inzunza ignored him. Jim stared up. He was worth too much on the black market for Inzunza to kill him for no reason.

"Pendejo," Inzunza snarled as he backhanded Jim hard enough that Jim blinked to clear his vision. Peter called out and the gun swung toward the young Sentinel who struggled against his bonds.

"Calm down, we're all fine," Jim said, tasting the blood from his split lip.

"Yeah, we're all fine," Inzunza mocked. "You'll be fine. Kincaid is only going to sell your asses to the highest bidder after breaking you... turning you into animals," he sneered. Deborah cried even harder, her breath coming in sobs now.

"Sooner or later, you're going down," Jim promised.

"Not before I see you crawl for your Master, little sub," the goon taunted before he went back to his spot near the front of the van. The other man already stood there, talking through a small opening to Dessy in the front seat. Jim let his head fall back against the side of the van. As a Ranger, he prided himself on being physically and mentally strong, on being able to think through a dangerous situation and keep his head. So why did he seem to keep getting captured lately. Blair would call it karma. Jim was thinking he just had some damn bad luck.

FORTY FOUR  
***  
Jim watched Inzunza. The van stopped and he pulled on a mask and disappeared out into the sunlight. "There's a slaver coming, run for it," Jim said in a normal tone of voice, hoping any Sentinels would hear him.

Dessy appeared at the open door to the van. "Do that again, and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Right now you're just goods, Mr. Lawson. If I can get money for you, good. If you cost me money, I'll put you down." The man's voice had a calm cheerfulness to it that suggested he meant every word. Jim clenched his jaw and stared at the man.

"Please let us go," Deborah pleaded weakly. Tear stains glittered in the sun that came in through the open door. "Please."

Dessy looked toward her coldly. Even if Jim wanted to offer a word of comfort, he didn't have any, so he remained silent until Inzunza and the henchman came back with one woman between them.

"Two or three did a runner," Inzunza said as he pushed the woman into the van. She was dirty, a streak of brown down one brown cheek.

"Please, you don’t have to do this," she pleaded in a Hispanic accent, echoing Deborah's words from just a second ago.

"Let the other vans pick up the rest. We seem to have a talkative group here."

Dessy looked at Jim, but Jim remained silent as Inzunza secured the woman in place next to Jim. Nothing he said would help their situation, and he wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction of begging. With a final glare, Dessy slid the van door shut. A second later, they were moving.

Jim's legs throbbed. The angle reduced the blood flow, and he couldn't steady himself so the straps dug into his legs at every turn. Next to him, Creeper's chant grew louder. "...creep away, creep away... not real... creep away, creep." Jim wondered what demons chased the man, but his eyes were closed, and his heart beat steadily, unlike the other three. Whatever nightmares Creeper was seeing, they were familiar enough that the man was used to their presence.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped. Jim rolled his eyes. Creeper just chanted louder, and Deborah cried with broken sobs.

"Shhh. It's okay. They'll find us," Peter whispered so softly that only the Sentinels in the van could hear.

Eventually, the van stopped again, but this time when the van door opened, only shadow appeared outside the door. Dessy's footsteps rang sharply on the concrete, and the sound echoed. It was a large room--lots of metal. Jim guessed a warehouse.

The younger thug pulled out a knife and started cutting the plastic ties that connected Sentinel legs to the bar. He started with Peter and worked down, and the second he cut Jim's legs loose, Jim brought his feet up under him. Almost immediately, his sense of touch reeled out of control as pins and needles coursed through his legs. Deborah was crying harder than ever, so Jim guessed he wasn't the only one in pain. Ruthlessly forcing away all touch, Jim watched as the young man grabbed the Hispanic Sentinel and pushed her out the door to waiting hands. Jim was next, and he struggled to keep his feet under him as he landed on the concrete floor.

Two men waited, and one slipped a dog's choke chain around Jim's neck and pulled him to the side while another goon stepped up to take control of Creeper. The one who now held Jim's leash was large, a black man with muscles that suggested he'd spent some time in jail with nothing to do other than lift weights. Now wasn't the time for any move. Jim could barely shuffle his legs which had taken damage first in scrambling through the glass to attack the driver and then from behind lashed to the bar. He needed to heal, but Jim also knew he had to move before he could be starved into compliance.

Checking out the room, Jim guessed they were near the ocean. The air smelled of salt and rust, and overhead, a few broken windows allowed shafts of light into an otherwise dim building. The smell of rats and bugs made Jim want to sneeze, but he controlled the urge, not wanting to draw the attention of his 'keeper' who was already holding the chain around Jim's neck tight enough that Jim could feel the individual links pressing into his neck.

Peter stumbled out of the van and fell to the floor, his head nearly cracking against the concrete as one of the 'handlers' caught him. "Careful! I don't want that pretty face ruined before auction," a voice called out. Jim tightened his jaw as he recognized Kincaid's voice just as the man appeared around the front of the van. Kincaid eyed the broken window and turned to Dessy.

"Problems?"

"None I couldn't handle. I got five, the other two vans got four and eight."

"Not as many as I wanted," Kincaid said softly. Dessy didn't answer right away. He watched as Kincaid squatted near Peter and put a hand under the man's chin. Peter glared up, but at least he had the sense to remain quiet. Like Peter, the other three Sentinels had collapsed to the floor where they still sat or lay. Peter and the Hispanic woman had both come through with some control, enough to sit up and glare. Creeper lay on his stomach muttering to himself, and Deborah just lay on her side and stared at the far wall, shock setting in.

"If we could have gone in at night, we could have grabbed ten or fifteen from Ruby's place and another twenty from that abandoned building."

"That many Sentinels in one place is dangerous," Kincaid said as he finished his inspection of Peter and stood up.

"They're just people... no more dangerous than anyone."

"You haven't worked with them. They're tough. If you try to take fifteen or twenty at once, they'll rip your head off," Kincaid said as his eyes finally found Jim. "Oh, what have you found me?"

"He was at Ruby's; he's the one who took out my driver. Washington said he wasn't a Sentinel when we first met him a couple of months back, but he sure knew exactly what was going on in the warehouse." Dessy turned and took a few steps toward Jim.

"Oh, he's a Sentinel," Kincaid agreed. "He belongs to Sandburg, and there for a while, he was mine. They must have broken his bond to me. Did you cry for me to come and get you while the bond was breaking?" Kincaid's voice had the saccharin sweetness of an adult speaking to a crying child, and Jim just glared.

"Don't you remember me?" Kincaid stepped forward and cupped Jim's cheek in his hand in a parody of tenderness.

"I remember you raping me while Blair struggled to reach me," Jim said calmly, ordering the fear that uncurled in his belly back to the shadows. Peter gasped.

"Oh, no need to worry, boy. Jimmy here just has his memories messed up a little because the SI has gone and rewired his brain. Before long, he'll be eating out of my hand." Jim didn't flinch as Kincaid stroked his cheek. "I know I said you could keep one of the Sentinels, Dessy," Kincaid said without taking his eyes off Jim, "but this one is mine. I'll have to make sure to send Sandburg pictures once I have him nice and trained."

Jim glared down at Kincaid, grateful for the two inches and the illusion of superiority that allowed him. All he had to do was hold out until Blair arrived with the cavalry. As much as Jim hated passively waiting, he really didn't see other options right now. And until that time came, Jim focused on just surviving.

"He's got a little too much control right now. Put him in the tank, put the others in the main room. They need a little time to think about their situation." Kincaid kept his voice friendly, so friendly that it gave Jim the creeps, especially since he understood what Kincaid meant. They'd be chained in some dark corner until they were nearly insane, and Kincaid would come in with his friendly voice and act like he cared. Sentinel instincts to bond plus the Stockholm syndrome plus Kincaid's own mix of drugs and the Sentinels would bond to whoever paid top dollar.

The goon with Jim's leash yanked hard enough that Jim nearly lost his balance before he could turn to follow. He'd get his chance. One way or another, he was going to snap Kincaid's neck.

Blair cursed and slammed the laptop shut. "Just walk away. Send it to Eli and walk away," Blair ordered himself. But every time he reread the text, he found something else to change: some ambiguous comment or some phrase that he knew related to something in the literature, which sent him on a hunt through the papers and books now scattered on every flat surface in the Sentinel-safe room and over half the living room. Eyeing the laptop with suspicion, Blair opened it.

"Don't read it. Just send it to Eli," he chanted over and over as he opened the email program. "Don't read it."

Blair hit send and then slammed the laptop closed again, dumping it on the bed before getting up and heading for the kitchen. "God, no wonder Jim ran away from home. I don't even like living with myself right now," Blair muttered as he went for a beer. He had half down before he headed back for his laptop. This needed to be perfect. Too many people on the committee would want to discredit this research, and with Newsweek writing an article, no way would they fail to mention that little fact. And really... Blair was not into public humiliation.

Blair dropped on the edge of the spare bed and opened the laptop again. In the distance, a dog howled and Blair chewed on his lip as he reread the second paragraph on cultural stresses within the African American Sentinel community.

God, how could anyone have missed these numbers? If one out of four hundred whites had some level of Sentinel abilities, of course one of four hundred African Americans would. How the hell did everyone miss the fact that out of an estimated 90,000 African American Sentinels who should exist, only a little over 20,000 were in the system?

And of those, nearly half were non-functional Sentinels who lived in institutions because of their unstable senses or aggressive traits. Over a half-million white Sentinels were in the system, but of those only thirteen percent were non-functional. But, if Blair was right and the missing 70,000 African American Sentinels were out there functioning without the SI, then all the figures matched. It amused Blair no end that if his research in Georgia could be duplicated, he might take away one of the racists biggest arguments. Blacks didn't have fewer Sentinels. Their Sentinels weren't more likely to be non-functional. They were just a lot better at hiding from the SI.

Blair opened his dissertation to the implications for future studies portion of the document and started rereading. Yeah, he had a lot of assumptions in there, but assuming that African Americans and white Americans had similar genetic pre-disposition towards Sentinel genes wasn't that big of a leap, especially considering the one in four hundred figure was true in Africa.

The dog howled again. "Geez. If you buy a big dog, don't leave him locked up inside. It annoys him and everyone who has to listen to him," Blair complained to the air as he read the next section. He might want to tone down the section on the ineffectiveness of the African American community to deal with the non-functional Sentinels, many of whom did become very violent and anti-social. Blair reached for the phone to call Eli and run his ideas past his mentor.

He yelped and jerked his hand back as a timber wolf sat looking at him. "Shit." Blair dumped the laptop on the floor as he scrambled back across the bed. The wolf just stared at him. "Nice doggie," Blair tried with a weak smile. He liked animals fine as long as they were on the other side of a fence, but this was a little too close for comfort. The wolf looked at him with something that came close to disgust before he turned and walked out of the room, right through the closed door.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed. "Okay, one this is not happening. Two, this is not happening." Blair grabbed the phone and dialed the soup kitchen. Maybe he had just fried his brain with too much studying. Getting his master's, he had once done 39 hours of statistics, and he'd seen all sorts of strange things that time. Of course, the hospital insisted the caffeine overdose had caused most of that.

"Blair?" the voice at the other end of the phone answered before Blair could open his mouth.

"Ruby?" Blair asked.

"Who do you expect to be answering my phone?" Ruby demanded with her normal attitude. "Honey, get yourself down here now."

"How did you..."

"Some assholes kidnapped Jim. Of course you called."

Blair opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In the background, he could hear the familiar sounds of police chatter from a radio. "They.... What?"

"Honey," Ruby's voice lowered. "I don't care what you're seeing right now. You tell the spirits that they can just chew on their own tails and wait a bit. You get your white ass down here, and I do mean now. Do you understand?" Ruby demanded.

"Oh God," Blair breathed.

"That better be a prayer and not you taking the Lord's name in vain, Baby because you have enough trouble without pissing Him off."

"I'm coming," Blair answered as he dropped the phone and bolted off the bed. The wolf was in the living room, pacing from the door to the couch and back again. "Ruby first," Blair told the animal as he grabbed his weapon and clipped the holster to the belt. Normally he put his gun on with reluctance, but today, he could see himself shooting someone—happily even. He slipped on his vest and grabbed his phone and keys before bolting out the door.

The wolf waited by Blair's car. Blair pulled the door open, and he pointed his nose toward the sky and howled. "Shit, that's not good, is it?" Blair said as he started the engine. He shoved his police light in his window and peeled out of the parking lot. Cursing the traffic, Blair dialed Simon with one hand while navigating around cars that moved aside just a little too slow.

"Banks," Simon answered sharply.

"Simon," Blair breathed, and suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. He spotted the wolf pacing him on the crowded sidewalk.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

"Simon, you lived in the South."

"I.... What? Sandburg, I have work to do here, even if you've taken the week off."

"Did you know Sentinels and guardians who sometimes did things a little different?" Blair asked quickly.

"Different?" Simon echoed.

"Kudari. Did you know any kudari?"

"Where the hell did you hear that word?" Simon demanded, and now Blair could tell he had all of Simon's attention.

"Did you know any?" Blair detoured around a bus, and then slammed on the brakes when the wolf darted in front of his car. "Son of a—" Blair dropped the phone on the seat as the animal darted down a side street. "Forget it. I'm going to Ruby's you overgrown Chihuahua."

Blair grabbed the phone, Simon's voice shouting through the earpiece. "Sandburg? What the hell is going on?"

"Simon, just if you knew any, if you know what that means, just meet me at Ruby's." Blair clicked the phone off and tossed it into the passenger seat as he focused on getting to Ruby's as fast as possible.

By the time Blair pulled up in front of the soup kitchen, the number of cops outnumbered the homeless two to one. Blair flashed his badge at one of the officers before heading inside.

"If you'd get out there and look for the van or for someone who saw the van, you might actually get something done," Ruby was berating a police officer. "Instead ya'll stand around here waiting for these assholes to just show up again. If ya'll would have come the minute Jim called you, you'd have been here. But no. Crime down here don't matter much to you lot, does it?" The detective taking her statement kept opening his mouth as if to defend himself, but Ruby was in full-attack mode and not about to be cut off by someone half her age. "Blair!" she called when she saw him. She abandoned the other detective and immediately came over and hugged Blair. "Oh Honey, you know we'll find him," she assured him.

"All witnesses need to be interviewed outside," the other detective said as he reluctantly stepped closer. Blair looked over at the man.

"I'm not a witness," Blair said reaching for his pocket.

"Then how'd you get in here?"

Blair showed the man his badge while talking to Ruby. "What happened?"

Ruby set her mouth in a thin line and took a deep breath. If Blair were Dessy or Kincaid or even the other detective who was trying to take her statement, that look would scare the shit out of him. "Two gunmen with masks came in. When the commotion started, I headed up front and Jim headed for the back to dial 911. They had pictures, kept comparing us to the pictures, and they used 'em to single out Peter, Deborah, and Creeper."

"Shit," Blair breathed as he recognized the names. "And Jim?"

"He tried to stop them out front, Honey. He got the drop on them, had a gun to them even, but the man in charge, a greasy accountant looking guy, he said he'd rather leave a lot of bodies on the street than disappoint Kincaid. Jim had to give up his weapon or they were going to kill Peter and the others." Blair could feel panic wrap around his lungs as he recognized the description. Dessy. Dessy had Jim.

"And they took Jim," Blair said flatly. He could visualize it in his head with a painful clarity.

"Yeah, they did. But we'll get him back."

"Okay, I really need your name," the detective interrupted.

"Blair Sandburg. I work Major Crimes in Central Precinct."

"This isn't a major case," the detective said in a confused voice. Blair glared at the man.

"Blair, Honey, killing the detective is just going to slow you down," Ruby said as she started pulling Blair toward the door.

"We aren't done with the interview," the detective protested. Outside, Simon was just pulling up.

"Sandburg?" he called when he opened the car door.

"Simon, thank god. Slavers raided. They took Jim. It was Dessy, which means he's going to get handed over to Kincaid," Blair said as he closed in on his captain. Behind him, the detective still trailed.

"This is the Nineteenth's case. Major Crimes has no jurisdiction here," the other detective protested. Simon glared at the man.

"I'm Captain Banks, and as the only captain on scene, this is my jurisdiction until the commissioner tells me otherwise." Simon used a tone of voice that even made Blair pause. Then he grabbed his radio and called for backup from Major Crimes. "Blair, we'll find him," Simon promised when he finished calling for Rafe and Brown. However, Blair focused on the wolf that paced on the far side of the yellow crime scene tape.

"Blair? You see something?" Ruby asked.

"He's that way," Blair said, nodding toward the wolf.

"What's that way?" Simon turned and looked down the street, but from the confused look on his face, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, nothing like a wolf winding through the crowd and randomly growling at the air.

"Right, let's go," Ruby agreed.

"Hold on there," Simon said as he stepped away from his car door and physically blocked Ruby from getting in the back. "This is a police investigation."

"This is a kudari pair; the police don't have much of anything to do with this," Ruby corrected him.

"I don't know what—"

"Honey, you either drive where Blair points or we'll take his car, but we need to find Jim now, and standing around here isn't getting it done." Ruby crossed her arms so she became a mirror of Simon.

"Blair?" Simon asked in confusion. Blair headed for the passenger side of Simon's car. "She's coming, Simon. I need her to come."

"This is a bad idea," Simon protested, but Ruby neatly pushed him to one side as she pulled the back door to the car open.

"Simon," Blair said desperately.

"This is a bad idea," Simon repeated as he got into his car. He pointed a finger toward the detective from the Nineteen who still stood on the sidewalk. "When Henri Brown and Brian Rafe get here, the scene is theirs. One of ours is missing in this mess, and Major Crimes is taking jurisdiction," Simon growled before he put the car into reverse and backed out of the maze of police cars all parked in front of the soup kitchen.

FORTY FIVE  
***  
Jim finally gave up trying to get comfortable in a crouch. He slid to his stomach so that the short chain connecting his neck to the bolt in the floor wouldn't pull at him. With each wrist chained to a thigh, he couldn't move well, and now the cold concrete chilled his whole body. However, the cold wasn't as dangerous to long-term escape plans as a sprained back so Jim ignored the uncomfortable feeling of the rough, cold concrete against his bare skin.

The heavy door to this room, which used to be a walk in freezer, opened, and Jim could see the light behind the trio of men.

"You get a roommate, one said with a sneer. He pulled another into the room.

"Still creeping. In the dark creeping. Little feet creeping creeping," muttered a voice.

"Gee, thanks," Jim commented as they moved Creeper into position next to Jim. There was only one bolt on the floor, so they locked Creeper's leash to the same bold with a large padlock.

"Creeping cold. Cold cold cold." Creeper muttered as the goon gave him a slap on the shoulder and then got up and left. The door closed again, and Jim tried to estimate how much oxygen he now had with a second prisoner in here with him. Denying a person access to even basic needs was the oldest brainwashing technique in the book, but this was the first time Jim ever had his oxygen threatened.

"Creeping feet," Creeper muttered.

"I'm Jim," he tried. Creeper kept his eyes closed, but this close, Jim could smell the disease from his body. In the soup kitchen, there had been so much body odor that Jim hadn't noticed it, but Creeper smelled of fungus and disease. "They're going to find us and get us out of here," he promised. Jim stretched out with his fingers and brushed the back of Creeper's hand. Creeper jerked away.

"Little feet creeping over me. Little feet in the walls."

"No, no little feet," Jim promised. He could hear rats far off, but this part of the warehouse wasn't attractive to them. They congregated around the areas where the goons sat and ate candy bars and dropped wrappers smeared with chocolate. There weren't any around here.

"Little feet. Little feet little teeth creeping creeping creeping." Creeper started rocking, the neck chain jangling against the cold concrete.

"Shit. You've been in this situation before," Jim let his head rest against he concrete as he studied Creeper using only the dull glow of a single light that seemed to warn that the freezer was too warm to meet code. Thank god for that. The only thing worse than lying naked and chained on a concrete floor would be doing it with the freezer turned on. "We'll get out of here. We'll go back to Ruby's, Jim promised."

Creeper shook his head. "Never. Never get out. Never have. Never will."

Jim gave up. Whatever reality existed in Creeper's head, he couldn't do anything about it. Creeper started to softly cry. Jim turned his head away, trying to give the man as much privacy as he could. Now he could see the huge paw of a black panther.

"Nice, you finally show up. If you've got any suggestions, I'd appreciate them," Jim told the spirit animal. It sat down so close that the tail brushed against Jim's thigh. "Not really the help I wanted. That's actually pretty annoying," Jim complained. His roommate started chanting louder. Now he was almost yelling, his rotten breath making the air smell. Jim pushed away his sense of smell as the sweet scent of starvation ketosis and the stench of tooth rot drifted through the air.

The tail swept the back of Jim's knee, tickling the skin in a really annoying way, especially since the chains kept him from itching. Jim shifted slightly towards Creeper. The cat moved with him.

"Damn it, give me a break here," Jim complained as he braced his toes on the cold concrete and shifted another painful inch away. His fingers brushed across Creeper's hand, and it was colder than it should be, but Jim only had a second to notice before Creeper screamed and wiggled away from Jim.

"Creeping creeping creeping creeping. Can't eat me. Can't have me."

"Trust me, I don't plan on eating anyone," Jim sighed. He felt a slight temperature difference, a tiny spot even colder than the floor he lay on. Jim inched his fingers over the concrete searching for the source. He shifted a little farther and cursed the fact that he couldn't twist well enough to see what he was doing. Pulling until the cold steel links that connected his wrists to this thighs dug into his legs, Jim felt the circular edge of a drain.

Jim lifted himself and shifted a couple of inches so that he could explore this new feature. A metal grate covered it, rusted screws still holding it firmly in place. "Shit," Jim breathed as he used short finger nails on first the screw and then the edge of the grate. Nothing gave. "Fuck." Jim gave an aborted punch, the chains stopping him from moving more than a couple of inches. "Right, use what you have," Jim said to no one. The cat just stared at him, and Creeper had fallen into a tuneless chant without actual words.

Lifting his arm the few inches he could, Jim brought it down on the grate. Metal clanged against metal and Jim felt the grate. It was old, parts rusted, and now a small section had cracked. Jim traced it with his fingers before slamming his chains down on it again. This time, a small bit broke away. Jim pulled on the thin strips of metal and pulled. One broke into a piece no more than an inch long, and Jim let it drop into the drain, hearing the soft plop when it hit the muck at the bottom of the drain. Smashing the grate again, Jim yanked a larger chunk free this time.

Rolling to one side, Jim struggled to separate the long strip of metal from the cross-pieces still stuck to it. Eventually, he was left with a piece of metal still too fat to make a lock pick. Shifting away from the grate, Jim settled back down onto his stomach and started rubbing the strip on the floor, using the concrete as a sharpening stone as he gave the metal a sharp enough point to use it as a pick.

"Creeping creeping," his roommate whispered.

"Yeah, this works and we're going to do some creeping out of here," Jim promised as he set to work.

Jim was working on getting the first lock open when he heard Blair's voice slam into his consciousness. He glared at the cat. "You just had to tell him, didn't you? Shit. Just let me get free before he comes in here," Jim said to the cat as he worked a little faster. Yeah, Blair could take care of himself, but Jim loved the naïve way Blair always expected the good guys to win. He loved the simple faith Blair showed in life, and what he wanted to do would tarnish that.

Working the lockpick, he listened as Blair talked to other people.

"He's in there. Man, I know he is."

Someone must have disagreed with him. "Then find the owner and get permission. If Ruby's right, there are squatters in there. Shouldn't the owners want squatters out?"

Jim closed his eyes at the simple naiveté in that one statement. The chances were that the owners were renting this building out under the table, but Blair always expected the best of human nature.

"I'm going in."

There was another pause, and Jim could only hope someone out there was talking sense to his Guide. The lock opened with a click, and Jim jerked his first hand free with a relieved sigh.

"You can't be serious, Ruby."

Ruby? What the hell was Blair doing with Ruby? Jim rolled to his back and started working on his second hand. That one went faster with the full use of one hand.

"But he's in there," Blair protested vehemently. And if Jim knew that tone, his Guide was about to leave no matter what Ruby said. The second lock came off and Jim rolled to his knees so he could work on the lock around his neck.

"That will take hours," Blair snapped. Okay, that sounded like someone was arguing for doing it by the book, but Jim couldn't imagine Ruby making that argument. The lock around his neck came free and Jim reached over to unlock Creeper. The man gave a blood-curdling scream. When Jim's attempts to reassure him caused the man to start hitting his head against the concrete floor, Jim just backed away until Creeper returned to his tuneless chant. In the shelter, Creeper had certainly been strange, but Jim had somehow missed the fact that the man was clearly nuts.

Jim stood up and let the chains from his thighs fall the floor with a rattle now that they weren't locked around his wrists too. Jim moved to the door, listening to the silence on the other end before he tried the door. Luckily, it opened without protest.

"Ruby," Jim said in a conversational tone. "If you can hear me, tell Blair to chill out and stop assuming I need some sort of rescue here," Jim whispered. Okay, he was naked in a building full of armed terrorists and thugs, so that might be worded a little strong. "Okay, some help would be nice, but I'm safe right now," Jim amended himself.

A second later he could hear Blair. "Safe? You're sure he's safe?" Blair squawked. Jim focused his hearing in the direction now that the freezer didn't distort the sounds.

"Honey, I said I'm *sure* he's safe." Ruby's voice came through clearly now.

"Oh, you're sure. Okay. But we need to get that paperwork before the people in there aren't safe any more."

"And the probable cause on that would be?" a deeper voice asked. Simon? Blair brought Ruby and Simon? Jim shook his head. Sometimes his Guide's logic escaped him totally.

"I don't know, make something up." Jim could just imagine the expression Simon had just given Blair. But as long as Simon kept Blair outside until Jim could take care of Kincaid, Jim would forgive Simon for glaring at his Guide. Hell, Jim did it enough. Scanning the building, Jim couldn't pinpoint the leaders; however, he started moving in the opposite direction as the Sentinels he could hear crying to his left. Kincaid wouldn't want to be near the Sentinels, not until he came in to play mind games with them.

Jim slipped out of the small area into the main room, his bare feet quietly slapping against the cold floor.

"We can't just stand out here." Simon protested.

"Man, you have to get a warrant."

"The Nineteen is sending over a Sentinel. Until he can confirm that the hostages are inside, I don't have probable cause."

"I could," Ruby started.

"Don't," Simon snapped. "Just don't. Blair, the way you've put me in the middle here..."

"Jim's doing fine, Honey," Ruby assured him. Jim followed the shadow of the far wall toward a single bored guard who stared out toward the street through a cracked door, a cigarette hanging from one hand.

"Please stop saying things like that," Simon growled.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't stop gettin' so uptight," Ruby admonished Simon.

"Jesus Christ," Simon breathed. Jim flinched as Ruby erupted into her lecture about taking the Lord's name in vain. However, they must have been pretty far away because the bored guard stared out onto the city. Jim struck, his arm wrapping around the man's neck and putting pressure on the artery that fed the brain. The guard's foot kicked the can he'd been using as an ashtray, making the metal rattle across the floor. Jim flinched, but no one else in the building reacted.

"There. Did you see that?" Ruby demanded.

"What?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I saw it," Blair quickly agreed. "What did I see?" Jim rolled his eyes. Blair wasn't winning points for subtlety.

"Someone just yanked that guard right out of the doorway."

"I'm goin—" Blair voice cut off as though he ran out of air, and Jim was guessing that either Simon or Ruby had sat on him. Even with those two out there, Jim knew he had a limited amount of time to act before Blair came in here. Jim didn't want Blair to see him taking care of business, and Jim sure didn't want Blair talking him out of it, so Jim grabbed the guard's weapon.

A silencer... oh yeah, these guys were running a serious business. Somehow Jim didn't think Kincaid planned to leave Dessy alive when he left town. All his guards were white, and despite Simon's insistence that money spoke louder than beliefs, Kincaid struck him as a true believer. And having silenced weapons would make it easy to execute people within the building without their compatriots finding out. Well, Jim didn't plan on giving him a chance to carry out that massacre. He headed for the stairs without bothering with clothes.

Kincaid's security was even more lax this time, maybe because he didn't have a cop chained up in his room, but Jim managed to get upstairs to the offices that ran along one side of the warehouse without being seen.

"I'm calling in for a warrant based on Ruby assessment of the neighborhood and the fact that you witnessed that attack in the door, but Blair, you'd better know what you're doing."

"Jim is in there," Blair said, his voice still strained, so someone was probably still physically restraining him. Jim let that voice fade to the back of his consciousness as he focused on the offices. Padding down the carpeted hall, Jim stopped when a door opened. Some heavy backed out of the room, joking with whomever was still in the room, and Jim slipped into an empty room. The guy closed the door and headed for the stairs.

Jim didn't have much time. He moved confidently down the hall and opened the second to the last door. Jim held the weapon on Kincaid who sat on a couch, a plate of fries and a burger balanced on his lap.

"Jim," Kincaid said as he slowly lifted his hands. "I'm not any danger to you."

"You think that will save you," Jim said quietly.

"You know I'm not a danger. I wanted you from the minute you rushed to Blair's defense. And Blair's a good man. I wouldn't hurt a hair on his head. I just admire your strength and your loyalty. But if you shoot me, you know someone is going to find out. One of the men out there will see you, will hear me cry out. Let me have the gun, and you'll find that working for me is very pleasant. I would even let you have any girls you wanted. We need to build the master race, and you are far too fine to allow your genes to go to waste." Kincaid spoke softly, clearly convinced that he could talk his way out of this. "You were bonded to me once. You could feel the connection between us then, and you can feel it now," Kincaid almost crooned.

Jim listened without much emotion. "You commit the same sin everyone else does," Jim said calmly.

"What's that?" Kincaid asked with false sincerity.

"You think of me as a Sentinel who just happened to be in the armed services. You should think of me as a Ranger who just happens to have Sentinel genes." Without waiting for the confused expression to clear Kincaid's face, Jim put two bullets through the man's neck. He never did cry out. He gurgled for a few seconds, the food flying to the floor as his body flopped.

"You would never stop. You'd never stop holding a grudge against Blair and you'd never stop attacking young people who deserve to be protected from slime like you. A Ranger protects those who can't protect themselves. Rangers lead the way." Jim watched as Kincaid's body slowly stilled, his eyes glazing over into death. Jim backed away and headed for the door.

Outside, he could hear Ruby talking about weapons fire even though people inside hadn't heard the muffled gunshot. Blair sounded ready to bolt, and Simon had clearly given up trying to keep any control at all.

Jim moved down the hall, closing the door to Kincaid's office behind him. If he could reach them, he could cut the Sentinels free before the SI showed up. A thug came out of a room without warning, and Jim brought the gun up and fired before he could even scan the area. The man fell backwards with a cry and Jim followed him into the room.

"Someone call?" another voice yelled from farther down the hall. Jim kept his hand over the mouth of the man he'd shot, feeling the struggles grow weaker as the man lost blood. The blood loss would slow once the guy stopped fighting, so he might make it if the cops showed up fast enough.

"Something wrong?" someone else called from downstairs.

"No. I thought I heard something, but it's probably just Sims and his music. I hate that shit."

The guys downstairs laughed and walked away. The one upstairs closed his door again. Jim stood. The injured man had fallen unconscious, and Jim slipped out the door and hurried downstairs--toward the place where he could hear crying and smell unwashed bodies. Jim had to press himself between a steel girder and the corner as a guard walked past him. Someone had to find one of the bodies soon.

When the area was clear, Jim trotted toward the prisoners. He opened the door to the Sentinel room, and stepped back away from the stench. Human waste and fear made the air thick and unpleasant to breath. Shit. Jim had been lucky to get dumped in the freezer.

"Jim?" a voice called. Jim looked over to see Peter, naked and chained by his neck and his wrists to a ring in the floor.

"Do you know where the keys are?" Jim asked. Around him, other Sentinels started sitting up.

"On the hook there," Peter looked to Jim's right. He glanced over and spotted the keys. Jim headed for Peter.

"Get everyone loose and then head for parts unknown. The SI is on its way."

"The SI?" Peter asked, swallowing with fear as Jim worked the lock. "I'm going to stand guard, so get everyone else loose," Jim repeated the directions. Peter was a good kid, he'd survived a lot but he was also looking a little shocky.

"Let me out. I'm not going with those pendejos," the Hispanic woman who had been brought in with them insisted. She was chained near Peter, and he got her loose before moving down the rows, unlocking forty-two Sentinels, some of whom had clearly been here a while. More than a few simply scooted backwards toward the corner of the room, their wide eyes staring at the others. Jim tightened his jaw at a boy who couldn't be more than fifteen flinching away from all touch and sliding along the far wall with a wild look in his eye.

"You have to listen. Listen for the heartbeats, for the footsteps. Then run in the shadows," Jim advised as he inched the door open. Peter looked toward Jim hesitantly. "Ruby is waiting for you out there. Listen for her," Jim advised the boy. He could hear Ruby talk to Peter.

"You hear me, boy? You get out here because you are not getting out of the dishes that easy. The filth is going to be caked on by now, and I'm too old to scrub my own pans."

Peter glanced at Jim and then in the direction where Ruby waited. "Just listen for guards, run when they aren't near," Jim advised. He opened the door and Peter took a deep breath and raced out. Six Sentinels including Deborah and the Hispanic woman followed him.

"I can't hear the guards," an older man said, clearly desperate. Jim glanced toward him and the couple of dozen Sentinels who stood staring at him.

"You can stay here and wait for the SI, or band together. Listen together for the guards. It's your life, so you decide," Jim said. He could Dessy's voice in a far corner of the warehouse now.

Jim slipped out of the Sentinel room and slid along the wall as he headed deeper into the warehouse. A few more Sentinels ran for the door. More stayed. Jim heard the police sirens several minutes before the first sound of cursing came from upstairs. Someone threw a white noise generator, and a blanket muffled the building. Jim paused. The best course now was to wait it out. Jim glanced back toward the door the now-dead guard had been watching. He could go to his Guide.

Jim realized his mistake when he heard the muffled sound of a gun cocking. Cursing the white noise generator and the momentary loss of concentration, Jim raised his hands in surrender as he turned to face Dessy.

FORTY SIX  
***  
"Dessy," Jim said calmly even though he had every expectation of being shot. The longer he could stall Dessy, the greater the chance that he'd get medical help before bleeding out.

"You are a tough son of a bitch, you know?" Dessy asked, that familiar friendliness still in his tone. Jim kept his weapon pointed harmlessly at the ceiling, as though surrendering, without actually putting it down.

"Make a run for it now or you're going down with Kincaid's men," Jim advised him.

"Kincaid's an asshole, but he's a scary asshole. He'll have a backup plan."

"Which he has no intention of sharing with you. You were going to get a bullet in the back of your head before he took off with the Sentinels," Jim said with confidence. "He came to you because you traffic them, don't you?"

"Only a few. Washington always spotted them for me, but I didn't have the customers lined up like Kincaid. Now, let's you and I go find Kincaid before he uses his backdoor to leave us behind.

"He's not leaving at all," Jim said without moving. "I killed him."

That made Dessy stop and stare at Jim with narrowed eyes. "You're lying."

"He was my first stop," Jim said calmly. Dessy studied Jim for several seconds. "Well, shit. My horoscope today, it told me to beware of old acquaintances."

Jim could hear feet pounding over the concrete as police shouted.

"I really should have just shot you when I first met you," Dessy offered with a small shake of his head. Metal screeched as someone forced the far door open. Gunfire echoed against the walls, despite the white noise generator. "I guess I can correct that oversight now," Dessy said as he brought his weapon up.

Jim threw himself to one side, bringing his own weapon down as he fell. White fire burned his side, and he gasped as he shoved away the pain, focusing on returning fire. Jim hadn't gotten off more than one shot, which landed low in Dessy's gut before a familiar figure flew past him.

With a jerk, Jim sent his second shot wide as Blair threw himself at Dessy, taking the man to the ground with a startled yelp. Jim got up, his side bleeding sluggishly from a shallow graze.

"Blair," Jim called. Blair had managed to toss Dessy's weapon across the ground and now had his hands wrapped around the criminal's throat.

"You fucking shot him," Blair snarled as he lifted Dessy's head and slammed it back into the concrete.

"Blair!" Jim shouted as he grabbed his Guide around the waist. Blair fought him, his fingers pressing into Dessy's throat until the flesh turned white around Blair's fingers and the man opened his mouth in silent, pained gasps.

Jim grabbed Blair's wrist and pulled one hand away while Dessy struggled with Blair's other hand.

"Blair, let go."

"He shot you." Blair's voice hovered between fear and fury, and Jim tightened the arm around Blair's waist, pulling him back.

"Not nearly as well as I shot him. Come on, let go," Jim urged quietly. Blair turned to him with eyes nearly black with emotion and adrenaline. "I'm okay, Blair. I just want to hold you. Come on, let him go," Jim urged a little more insistently as other officers started coming toward them. Fair or not, Jim could shoot anyone he wanted. Blair, however, could end up in jail. Even worse, Blair would have to live with himself later. Jim had killed more than once, and could justify every kill. They were dirty and he would have preferred any other solution, but he accepted that sometimes death was the least messy solution to an ugly problem.

Blair's hands relaxed, and Jim pulled Blair back.

"Oh god, you're naked," Blair finally said.

"Obviously I've lost some of my appeal if you're just noticing now," Jim said dryly. Blair looked at him blankly for a second before a uniformed officer rushed up, pointing his weapon at them.

"I'm Detective Sandburg, Major crimes," Blair immediately turned so the officer could see the shield clipped to his belt. The uniform's eyes darted to Jim, and Jim immediately held his own weapon out for Blair to take.

"He's my Sentinel," Blair said possessively. Jim let his hands rest on Blair's shoulders as he watched the uniformed officer finally glance toward the real threat.

"That's Tomas Dessy, one of the targets," Blair introduced the officer. For a second, the officer looked down at Dessy who was now moaning and holding blood-stained fingers to his gut shot.

"I've got Dessy!" the uniform shouted as he aimed his weapon at the thug.

"Kincaid," Blair suddenly said, his eyes darting around the room as though the man had appeared.

Jim tightened his grip on Blair's shoulders. "He's taken care of," Jim promised.

"Taken care... you didn't." Blair turned around and looked up. Jim refused to feel guilty for what he had done. However, he did worry as he waited for the emotional explosion. Instead, Blair sighed. "God, we're a bloodthirsty pair. Man, my karma is like... whoa. Our karma is whoa. We're going to be volunteering at a monastery for a year just to get back to square one," Blair sighed as he leaned in, letting his head rest on Jim's chest. Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and just held on.

"Blair, Jim," Simon called from the other side of the room. Behind him, the white-uniformed SI workers followed in teams of three.

"Shit. Did Peter get away?" Jim whispered to Blair.

"What? You mean the red-haired, thirty-four year old construction worker Peter who volunteered in Ruby's kitchen and got taken by slavers?" Blair blinked up. "Yep, he got clean away. Hopefully with a description like that, the SI will catch him very, very soon."

Simon heard the last part as he walked up to them. "Okay, whatever that means, I am officially ordering you to stop talking about this in my presence. Sandburg, you are bad for my ulcer."

"You don't have an ulcer," Blair answered confidently.

"By the time you and Miss Ruby are through, I will," Simon insisted as he held out a white gown that looked a lot like a hospital gown without the slit in the back. "Please, just put it on and complain about the lack equitable dignity later. The robe is more dignified than being naked," Simon said as he held it out to Jim.

"I could argue that," Jim said as he pulled the cotton gown over his head. He looked like a cross dresser with bad taste, but at least he had clothes on. "Simon, we do have a small problem."

"I've got a whole lot of small problems," Simon corrected him. "Just add it to my pile."

"Kincaid and at least one guard are dead. I shot Kincaid with this weapon," Jim said calmly as he took the gun from Blair and held it out for Simon. "If you have an evidence bag, I'll unload the weapon." Jim waited as Simon stared at him incredulously for several seconds.

"You what?"

"The guard from the door. He tried to reach his weapon, and I crushed his windpipe. I shot Kincaid. There's a second guard upstairs who caught me in the hall. I don't know if he's still alive. And I shot Dessy," Jim nodded toward the man who was now moaning and handcuffed as the uniformed guard waited for paramedics.

Simon didn't answer right away. When he did, his lips were tight. "You cannot play judge, jury, and executioner." Jim fought not to flinch in the face of that quiet anger. This was Simon who had accepted Jim and gone fishing with them. But Jim wasn't about to hide what he did, either.

"Kincaid was the only one I killed like that, Simon. The others were no different from any other cop being caught in a life or death situation with civilian hostages at risk."

"But Kincaid?" Simon demanded.

"He made it clear that he considered Blair and me a project. He had every intention of breaking our bond. He wanted Blair to watch me suffer. He was never going to stop being a danger."

"I'm not okay with this," Simon said slowly. "Damn it. I'm really not okay with this. And the fact that you're never going to have to face the consequences of this decision, that makes this feel like you're taking advantage of this whole situation."

Jim nodded his head. "I respect that. Just know that I made the decision as a soldier, not as a Sentinel. I didn't go off the deep end and mindlessly kill."

"Is that supposed to make it better or worse?" Simon demanded.

"It makes it no different from all the other times I've been called on to kill someone to protect my country," Jim said calmly. "And yes, I am taking advantage of my Sentinel status. I can kill Kincaid without legal consequences, and that was part of my decision, but there are still consequences for that. There are always consequences for something like this," Jim corrected the captain.

Simon blinked and stood silent for a moment before he reached for an evidence bag. "I have to report this to the SI," Simon said as he held the bag open and allowed Jim to pull out the ammunition and drop it and the gun into the plastic bag.

"I know, Simon," Jim agreed. "And I know the risk that entails for us right now, but some things just have to happen."

Jim could feel Blair shift uncomfortably in his arms. "And I know that neither one of you agree with my decision," Jim said as he looked down toward his Guide. He could feel a cold ache of fear settle in his stomach.

"Man, I'm totally not okay." Blair chewed his lip as the paramedics went past them to tend to Dessy. "But I get it. And we're still good, right?" Blair asked as he looked up at Jim.

"You're my Guide, my beshte, we're always going to be good," Jim agreed, the fear vanishing as Blair tightened his arm around Jim's waist.

"You two have to stop using words like that," Simon growled softly.

"Oh, they may become more common than you would think, those words," Blair smiled at Simon. "That is if the committee doesn't boot my dissertation."

"They're going to love it," Jim said. He watched white uniformed SI workers guide a few white-robed Sentinels in chains out of the room. Other SI workers started arriving with stretchers to get the ones who had been drugged. Jim considered his options before he let go of Blair and walked over to the closest SI worker.

"There's one more, and he's in bad shape," Jim said. The man looked over at him and blinked in surprise.

"Were you taken, aren't you..."

Jim shook his head. "My bond-mate is here. The slavers took me from the soup kitchen where I was volunteering, but Blair Sandburg who has custody is right there, and his captain is Simon Banks. But there is someone you do need to take custody of."

The SI worked looked at Jim with concern and then over toward Blair and Simon before finally making up his mind. "Charlie, Diane, can you come with?" they guy called to two other SI employees. Diane had the chains and Charlie had the tranq gun. Jim tasted bile in his mouth as he led them toward the freezer room. Maybe everyone would have passed Creeper and Jim could free him later, but Jim suspected that the man couldn't survive on his own any more than he could survive slavers.

"Shit, they have him in there?" the first worker asked, clearly upset as Jim pulled the freezer door open.

"Creeping feet creeping mouths you can't eat me go away," Creeper immediately wailed as he struggled back the inch he could. Jim watched as all three SI workers froze for a half second faced with this obvious terror and physical illness.

"Shit," Diane breathed so soft that only a Sentinel could hear.

"Creeping creeping always creeping."

"Hey, no creeping. Creeping bad," Charlie agreed as he pulled a tranq dart out of the gun and moved slowly forward. "No more creeping, kill the creeping creeping," the man crooned softly, sitting on the ground inches from Creeper as he reached out showing the man an empty hand.

"Creeping feet creeping teeth."

"Burn the feet. No creeping. No more creeping," Charlie assured him softly, inching forward on his butt. "No more creeping. Creeping gone. No more creeping."

Creeper strained his head up, looking at the SI man in confusion. Just then Charlie reached out and pricked Creeper's shoulder with the tranq.

Creeper went wild. He bucked up and arched his back as he gave a scream that made Jim take a step back.

"Creeping teeth!" he wailed.

"All gone. No more creeping. Creeping gone," Charlie promised as he rubbed Creeper's shoulder where he'd jabbed it with the needle.

"God, how long has he been down here?" Diane asked.

"He was at the shelter with me a few hours ago," Jim said. "We all knew that he had mental health problems, but none of us knew he was a Sentinel."

"God, living on the street. He can probably feel the lice crawling on him. No wonder he's in so much pain."

Jim shook his head. "I lived on the streets for over a year without any problems. The streets don't to this to you. When they brought him in here, he said he'd never left, that he'd always been in a place like this. I think someone used him and dumped him when he finally lost his mind," Jim said quietly. The two SI workers looked at Jim with a little concern. Jim had no idea if they were bothered by the idea of someone dumping Creeper on the street to suffer a broken bond after torturing him or if they were bothered by the idea that Jim had lived successfully on the street. Jim didn't care. They could think whatever they wanted. "I have to get back to Blair."

"I'll walk you," Diane offered, as though Jim couldn't be trusted to walk through one room and half way across another when the whole building was thick with cops. Jim headed back the way he'd come without comment. Diane followed in his wake until Jim reached Blair and they slid their arms around each other.

"Let's go home," Jim whispered as Blair leaned back into him.

"God, home sounds good," Blair nodded. Simon turned and looked at them.

"Jim, I can't have you at the station tomorrow," Simon said.

"I understand," Jim agreed quietly.

"One week suspension, and even when Blair comes back on duty, I don't want you in my department until you've talked to the psychologist."

Jim studied Simon's face. It was the sort of punishment a cop might get after a questionable shooting. Legally, Jim didn't have to go to a psychologist or stay out of the station when his guardian was there, but Jim nodded his agreement.

"You two... you're going to give me gray hair." Simon complained. "Get out of here," he ordered. "Blair, you're back on Thursday, but if you bring Jim, I swear, you're going to be directing traffic."

"Got it," Blair agreed. "And Simon, man, thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. You know you're going to end up in front of that nut-case judge of yours again."

"It may not be fair, Simon," Jim said, "but the fact is that she's going to see this as normal behavior. Kincaid threatened my bond-mate. I killed Kincaid. If I'd killed every guard in the building and the first three cops through the door, the judge would still say I was acting within reason for a Sentinel."

"And I'm not okay with that, either," Simon said quietly.

"Me neither, Simon," Jim agreed.

"Okay, get out of here. I've got a mess to coordinate and you two are officially in the way," Simon said brusquely, the moment of contemplation and sharing obviously over as he turned to bellow at an officer.

"Oh man, I didn't drive," Blair suddenly said.

"So we find a patrol officer with a car. Let's just get out of here before every cop in the precinct gets to see my bare knees," Jim suggested as he looked down at himself in the SI gown. This wasn't a look he really wanted anyone else to spot.

"Good idea," Blair agreed.

FORTY SEVEN  
***  
When Blair opened the door to the loft, Jim wandered in and dropped onto the couch exhausted. "Ruby and Simon?" Jim asked.

"Hey, someone taught me that you use what you have, even if it seems pretty stupid at the time," Blair defended himself as he came and dropped onto the couch next to Jim. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I think we're even on kidnappings now," Jim smiled wryly and looked at his Guide.

"We're keeping track? Oh man, I say we call this one a draw and take up darts or something," Blair joked back.

"Bowling."

"No way. I suck at bowling. Curling."

"Curling? I have the world's strangest Guide. He doesn't bowl but he curls."

"You love me anyway," Blair said smugly. Jim reached over and draped an arm around Blair's shoulders.

"Yeah, I do."

Blair didn't answer; he just let Jim pull him close, shifting so he could lay his head on Jim's chest. Brushing his fingers though Blair's curls, Jim realized that the man would have killed for him. He imagined Blair would have been devastated tomorrow, but at the time, he had wrapped his hands around Dessy's neck with every intention of killing him. On the one hand, Jim could appreciate having a partner who he trusted at his back. His Guide was clever and skilled and willing to do what it took to protect their relationship. Sure, he took risks, but overall, his risks were planned and reasonable. He would have made a good officer.

But on the other hand, Jim didn't want to see Blair struggle through the aftermath of having taken a life. Jim had seen too many young men and women self destruct. And if Blair had gone though with killing Dessy, Jim suspect that innocence that still clung to Blair despite everything, it would have shed like a snake's skin.

"Thanks for saving me," Jim whispered.

"Hey, you'd already shot the idiot," Blair pointed out. "And you're bleeding. Shit. Let's look at that." Blair sat up to look at the small spot of red that had soaked into the white gown.

"It really is just a scratch. I've cut myself deeper playing paintball in the forest west of Bamburg when I was stationed at the garrison there."

"Yes, oh great superhero who never gets and infection. Because the judge wouldn't be upset at all if I ignored a gunshot wound and brought you to a hearing with a raging infection."

"Smartass," Jim complained, but he let Blair go so Blair could get supplies. "I'm going to get some pants. I really do feel like an underprivileged transvestite in this thing." By the time Jim got back downstairs in a comfortable pair of sweats, Blair was laying bandages and antibiotic creams out on the coffee table.

"It's a scratch, not surgery," Jim commented as he eyed the piles of gauze and medical tape.

"I can't believe Dessy shot you."

"I can. The man is a sociopath."

Blair laughed. "You know, I normally have this whole speech about how unfair it is to apply psychological terms like 'sociopath' to someone just because you don't like them, but this time, I'm totally agreeing with you. The man is nuts."

"Nuts... another psychological term?" Jim asked with amusement.

"And you call me a smartass." Blair sighed dramatically as he knelt in front of Jim and applied cream to the injured side. "This is almost more like a burn," Blair commented as his fingers slowly smoothed the cool balm on the hot skin.

"Friction burn," Jim agreed. "It probably won't even leave a scar."

"You killed Kincaid," Blair said calmly in a compete non-sequitur.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. Blair finished with the cream and sat back on his heels. "Why?"

Jim sighed, not sure if he could give Blair an answer that would satisfy him. "Kincaid was dangerous."

"So are most of the people we arrest. Herrera was dangerous. The recidivism with true pedophilia, not just with underage sex, but with pedophilia.... whoa. Seriously not good."

"The system can deal with Herrera."

"But not with Kincaid?" Blair demanded.

Jim couldn't find a quick answer to that, and Blair picked up a gauze pad and covered Jim's the injury. "The system is set up to deal with Herrera. Kincaid was smart. Last time, the building was thick with cops and he walked away. He had dedicated followers who were willing to kill for him. He would have gotten out of jail."

"So, you're killing to protect me?" Blair asked, pulling off a strip of medical tape from the roll.

"No." Jim quickly said. Blair didn't need that guilt. Besides, Blair could take care of himself. He remembered Incacha's words in his dream: Blair would drag him where he needed to go, and he would shield Blair. Not protect... shield.

"If you were in the heat of the moment trying to protect me, I could totally understand. I mean, it doesn't say much about my own self control, but I was ready to pull Dessy's head off. He shot you. Man, that's seriously not okay with me. But I don't think that's how it went. Was it?" Blair stopped taping and looked up at Jim. For a half second, Jim considered lying to his partner.

"No," he admitted. "I found him, he told me to give him the gun and he'd bond with me himself and I'd love it, and I shot him. Not really much emotion there at all."

"Man. How could you?"

"How could I execute a man who sold explosives to the terrorists who helped coordinate the Pan Am 103 bombing? I did that too, and in that case, I didn't have the evidence. I couldn't know for sure that the man I saw thought my sniper rifle was dangerous, but I believed the intel. Blair, I know that this isn't how you would handle things, but I am who I am."

"A killer?" Blair asked. The words were harsh enough to make Jim flinch, but the tone was more confused than angry.

"A soldier," Jim corrected him. "I protect people; it's what I do. And as long as Kincaid was alive, he was more than just a slaver. His people nearly worshipped him. He would have gotten out of jail."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Sure enough that I know I made the right choice," Jim nodded. "And I know I'm not a soldier any more, and maybe that's what Incacha meant about following your lead, but I couldn't turn my back to a danger like that." Jim reached up ran his fingers through a curl, staring at the hair rather than see the expression on Blair's face. Blair's fingers curled around Jim's hand.

"Incacha told you to follow my lead?" Blair stared at Jim with undisguised suspicion.

"I had a dream or maybe a vision," Jim admitted.

"Okay, before you go any farther, I am all mysticalled out for the day, possibly for the year. Man, when Naomi goes on spiritual trips, at least her spirits don't show up with four legs and scare the shit out of you."

Jim laughed. "I think I said something like that to Incacha once. But the mystical side is part of being a Sentinel and Guide."

"I think I'll leave that out of the dissertation."

"Yeah, you probably should," Jim agreed. "Including it would make you sound like more a fruitcake than you are."

Blair glared at him as he pressed the last strip of medical tape in place.

"Hey, anyone who drinks algae for breakfast should know what people think of him," Jim defended himself from Blair's glare.

"It's healthy."

"Yeah, for fish maybe. So, my lawyer dropped another hint from my father. He's going to be visiting Canada next week, which is I think a hint that he would like to meet. Funny. When I first figured out you were a cop, the reason I didn't run was because I was sure I didn't have any place to go. Turns out I could have gone to my father all along."

"Man, you are so changing the subject," Blair accused him has he stood up.

"From what?" Jim asked innocently.

"I don't even know. Kincaid? Near death experiences? Incacha's mystical message? Man, you are the master of non-communication when you put your mind to it."

"Blair." Jim held out his hand and for a second, Blair just looked at him. Then, shaking his head with amusement, Blair took his hand and settled down on Jim's uninjured side. "I did what I had to with Kincaid. You don't need to agree with me or condone what I did, but I made that choice. I didn't have a near death experience because Dessy is a crappy shot when it comes down to it. And Incacha's mystical message was that I was a stubborn son of a bitch, and the spirits had told Incacha I had to come back here and find a Guide bull-headed enough to drag me where I needed to go."

"And you believe that?" Blair asked as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his feet up onto the couch.

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "I found you. You are pretty damn bull-headed. And if I hadn't found you, I would have made my goal just escaping the system." Jim reached up and brushed his fingers across the warm metal of his ever-present collar. "But you're right about some things being worth fighting for, so maybe this is where the spirits wanted me."

"Next time Naomi drops by, I'm going to ask her to thank the spirits for me, then," Blair said, his hand sliding over to Jim's stomach. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"Aren't you going to thank them yourself?"

"Hey, that would include the whole mystical trip, and I am officially swearing off the freaky, thank you. Man, Simon must think I totally lost my mind. Man, I think I might have lost it there in the middle."

"Assuming you had one to being with," Jim teased.

"Keep it up, Ranger-boy, and you will not be getting any desperate, hard sex here." Blair stood up and gave Jim a meaningful look before he headed for the stairs.

"Desperation sex never sounded so good," Jim answered as he got up to follow.

"Oh, I'll make you desperate all right," Blair said in a thoughtful tone, unbuttoning his shirt as he headed up the stairs. "Man, I wanted to do it on the floor of that warehouse. It's like nothing else would convince me you were still alive."

"I'm still breathing. It really isn't a serious injury at all," Jim assured his Guide.

"Man, that's logic. I am so not talking about logic here. The emotional brain is more about touching and smelling and the hindbrain which doesn't really take logic into account. Emotion is about hormones." Blair reached the top of the stairs and started back up toward the bed.

"Hormones?"

"Oh yeah. Testosterone released during competition, adrenaline released by fear. It's all hormonal."

"I really did get the odd Guide."

"And I got the scary Ranger-Sentinel with a Superman complex. And let's not talk about my mom's friend Jim, because my mom so does not belong in this conversation right now."

Jim closed in on Blair, and Blair's hands came up to rest on Jim's waist above his hipbones. Jim brought his hand up and gently stroked the side of Blair's face. Slowly, Blair's right hand slid up until it brushed the side of the dressing.

"Walking wounded," Blair whispered.

"Oh for god's sake..."

"Nope, this time you just lie down and let me do the work," Blair said as he tried to use his hands to guide Jim to the bed. Jim set his feet, his erection sagging.

"Blair, I'm really not ready for..."

"Oh man, I am totally not saying you should bottom. Geez, give me some credit. I'm just offering to do more to the heavy lifting here. Trust me."

Jim resisted for a split second and then allowed Blair to guide him to the bed. Blair's hands urged Jim to lie back and traced the waist of his sweats. When Jim finally relaxed into the middle of the bed, Blair started by kissing Jim's stomach, slowly moving down inch by inch as the tension gathered. Shit. Jim was used to being the seducer, or laying a woman out before him and working her body, but never before had he had someone seduce him.

Blair's hands fluttered up to Jim's chest, thumbs massaging circles in the muscles as Blair carefully sucked the soft skin just above the waistband of Jim's sweats. Even though Jim struggled to control his sense of touch, it continued to open to Blair's gentle touches, desperate for more as Jim fisted the edges of the mattress.

Slowly moving his hands down, sliding over Jim's stomach, Blair hooked fingers under the sweats and started pushing them steadily down, revealing new skin which he kissed with warm lips that made Jim's cock ache. When the tip of Jim's hard cock appeared, Blair sat up as though considering it for a second before he bent down and placed a kiss on it.

With a gasp, Jim thrust up, and Blair opened his mouth, sucking as Jim arched up into his mouth. Blair pulled back with a satisfied grin, and Jim groaned at the loss of contact. Instead of taking a hint, Blair leaned over, the heels of his hands braced on Jim's hips, holding them down as Blair reached up to suck on a nipple.

Running his hands through Blair's hair, Jim let go of his sense of touch which immediately amplified every touch until Jim writhed in need and threw his head back.

"Do it," Jim gasped, not even sure he care what it Blair was aiming for as long as it pushed him past this sharp edge of burning need and into completion. Blair sat up, his hair now tangled as he pushed it away carelessly. Reaching for the lube, Blair put some on his hand and reached around with his right hand. Jim watched as Blair slipped fingers into himself.

"I could—" Jim started to say. Blair cut off the suggestion with a passionate kiss that stole Jim's every thought. Blair ended the kiss and started sucking on Jim's lower lip, a move that made Jim grab Blair and pull him down on top of him so their bodies pressed close together. He could feel their heat, their musk, their need. A slick hand slipped between them and grabbed Jim's erection and Jim threw his head back and clutched Blair's shoulders.

When Blair wiggled down, Jim reluctantly let go. Through almost closed eyes, Jim watched Blair rub Jim's erection slowly, too slowly to get him off. Jim thrust up in a silent plea for more, but Blair just gave a wicked grin and let go altogether. Before Jim could complain, Blair straddled him, crawling up to give Jim a quick kiss on the lips before he reached around and grabbed Jim's erection.

Jim figured out Blair's plan two seconds before Blair slowly slid down onto Jim cock.

"Oh fuck," Blair gasped as he sank all the way down.

"Are you okay?" Jim had the presence of mind to ask as he grabbed Blair's thighs.

"Shit. So good. Oh, so doing this again," Blair gasped out as he threw his head back and knelt up only to let his weight fall back onto Jim's thighs. Jim clutched Blair's thighs, lost in the sensation as Blair rocked up and down, the heat and tightness finally forcing Jim to join his partner, timing his thrusts with Blair's own motion.

Jim could feel Blair tighten, his legs trembling, and he reached up and grabbed Blair's erection, feeling the foreskin slip over the shaft as Blair lost the pattern and just writhed and twitched. That pushed Jim over the edge as he came. Digging his heels into the bed, Jim thrust up, lifting Blair into the air. The warm scent of Blair's come filled the air and warm drops splatters across Jim's stomach.

"Fuck." Blair panted, collapsing next to Jim.

For long minutes, they lay side by side, Jim's fingers combing through Blair's messy hair. "Felix and Oscar," Blair said, his breath ghosting over Jim's still-sensitive skin.

"What?" Jim asked, too tired to follow Blair logic down the rabbit hole.

"The Odd Couple. Totally different, but still best friends, you know."

"Yeah," Jim agreed as he tightened his arm. "I know." It was early... not even dark yet. Still, Jim settled in, no intention of getting out of his bed and his Guide's arm until morning.

FORTY EIGHT  
***  
The judge looked up from her files. "Wait a minute. Weren't you two just in here because of that idiot who tried to kill you?"

"Kincaid, your honor," Blair offered quietly. "That was two weeks ago."

"Two weeks." The judge rested her chin in her hand as she looked at them. "Are they offering free frequent flier miles or something at the front desk? I mean, I don't think I've ever had clients who enjoyed spending quite so much time with me."

Jim clenched his teeth and ordering himself to not say how much he did not enjoy being in her court. But the wolves were circling, and plan A involved legally leaving the country--hopefully before the damn press figured out that Blair had filed for permission to teach overseas. Jim's plan had definitely not taken into consideration that so many parts of Blair's dissertation would get leaked early or that Maury would turn out to be so damn good in front of the camera. With that little blonde ACLU lawyer fluttering around him, he alternated between looking like the lord of the domain ruling from the wheelchair and a pathetic old man with a shiny new collar. Jim almost felt sorry for the SI. Almost.

"Your honor, I've finished my dissertation, and Utrecht University has offered me a visiting professorship in Sentinel studies," Blair said neutrally.

"You know, I have gotten more calls from politicians in the last few days than I did before the last election. Only this time, I'm actually getting the politicians on the other end instead of some teenager who can't pronounce the word 'imminent' who wants me to vote for their candidate."

"Your honor," Blair started, but the judge held up her hand to stop him.

"Let me finish, Dr. Sandburg. Right now, it's running about three to one against you. Now, your old boss in Major Crimes is in your corner as is Dr. Stoddard and a half dozen others, but other interested parties have informed me that you're disruptive, dangerous, and threaten to undermine the entire sanctity of the Sentinel Institute. Mind you, any time someone starts appealing to the sanctity of anything, I start wondering what they find so damn sacred."

"I've never advocated disrupting the system," Blair protested.

"Only that the system is completely blind to the needs of Sentinels. Yes, I read that." Jim could see the blood drain from Blair's face. The judge steepled her fingers and looked down from the bench. "And since everyone seems to know you were requesting out-of-country travel, I have been subjected to a dozen arguments about why you are an inappropriate guardian for James."

Jim sat up, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. No. No fucking way. Not now.

"So, I thought I would perform a little preemptive judicial discretion and deal with the issue of appropriate guardianship and out of country travel at once. It'll save the taxpayers a few dollars later."

"Your honor. I haven't had time to—" Blair started, his voice high and strained. The judge waved her hand dismissively.

"As a matter of fact, I do find your work highly disruptive, and from a judicial standpoint, annoying as hell. Your work makes my job exponentially more difficult, and I personally groan every time I read some new bit leaked by the media. Personally, I hope someone finds that your science is as questionable as your courtroom manners because I don't want to think that you might be right. However, I can't find that you've threatened the sanctity of anything in particular. You just challenge the status quo."

"I am trying to—" Blair tried to break in again, his heart racing. The judge glared, and he fell silent. Jim started calculating escape routes in his head. The bailiff wasn't a problem; the courthouse full of guards were.

"Given that I've made a legal determination that you are disruptive, I have the matter of custody to decide. And on this matter, my hands are clearly tied. The law does not provide for removing a guardian on the basis of annoyance. If it did, you would be in serious trouble, Dr. Sandburg. However, the law recognizes only a limited number of cases for removing a bonded Sentinel: moral turpitude, conflicts with the Sentinel or clear unfitness. James is healthy, productive, and in excellent spirits, and annoyance does not rise to the level of moral turpitude." The judge sighed and looked at Blair. "Not even the level of annoyance you represent, Dr. Sandburg. Therefore, I find that there is no legal basis to remove James from your guardianship."

"Thank you, your honor," Blair breathed, his heart slowing as Jim reached over and rested his hand on Blair's arm.

"The issue would have ended up in front of me at some point given the way some old men seem to enjoy complaining," the judge vaguely warned with a shrug. Jim smiled at her gratefully, but he must have had some murderous glint in his eye because when she caught his eye, she slowly smiled evilly. "Some people really should mind their own business," she said as she pursed her lips. For a brief second, Jim spotted the rebellious warrior inside the seemingly flippant exterior; her smile was just as calculating and knowing as his own.

"Now, on to the issue of travel," the judge sudden said, the conspiratorial tone scattered by her sudden shift into the business of the court. "Dr. Sandburg clearly identified anthropology as one of the fields with which he required Sentinel assistance, and his field is Sentinel studies, and the Netherlands certainly have Sentinels. I'm not seeing any reason to stop what is normal travel for Dr. Sandburg's lawful employment, despite the number of Amicus briefs I seem to have accumulated. I swear, Dr. Sandburg, I never would have known my court had so many friends if not for you."

"Your honor," Blair said slowly.

"Thank you, your honor," Jim interrupted.

"I assume your travel arrangements are made," she commented.

"Yes, your honor," Jim answered.

"Well, the Appellate Court takes a long weekend every weekend, and those judges don't give up their golf lightly. That gives you three days to hire someone to deal with the appeals that will no doubt be filed on James' behalf within the next hour," the judge offered as she shuffled the papers on her desk.

"Yes, your honor," Jim answered. Blair was obviously still struggling a little to get totally caught up on the subtext, and Jim found it amazing that even now, even though Blair knew the unfairness of the system intimately, that he could still be so shocked at one more example. Powerful people were moving against them, unseen in the shadows of the legal system, and Jim suddenly found himself wishing he had the judge's home address so he could add her to his Christmas card list, not that he sent cards, but for her he'd make the effort. "My father's lawyer will be able to recommend someone," Jim promised.

"I'm sure he'll be able to defend your rights," the judge said as she looked up.

"Yeah," Blair now added, obviously done with his 'processing.' "He'll be able to handle whatever needs handling."

Jim slipped his arm around his companion. Blair's university was here, his friends, his life. Jim felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. The judge couldn't have been clearer if she'd hung a neon sign over her head; if they wanted to fight the system, it was time to do it from the outside.

"Okay, then. Next case!" the judge cheerfully called. Jim stood, his hand still resting on Blair's arm as the man stood up and gathered various papers describing his project in the Netherlands. He hadn't presented a single one.

"Oh man," Blair breathed as they headed out the courthouse doors.

"We're leaving tonight, Chief. I don't care if the only flight is to Tajikistan, we can catch a flight to Utrecht from there."

"Hey, no arguments here. That was downright freaky in a secret handshake sort of way. Man, she is going to be on some serious shit lists tomorrow."

"Yeah, which is why we're getting out of here tonight. I'm not so sure those guys won't give up their golf," Jim whispered as they headed out into the twilight. The traffic in front of the court was at a near stand-still as going home traffic fought with released jury members and court workers who were all trying to crowd onto the already crammed street.

"You don’t have to go," Jim said quietly. He found himself thrown off balance when Blair froze in the middle of the sidewalk, and the hand Jim normally rested against the small of Blair's back forced Jim to stop too.

"Don't even start, Ellison," Blair warned.

"You have a life here. Once I'm set up in Utrecht, you can come back here and keep working on your research."

"Or I can go there and work on my research. Man, it's going to be years... maybe decades before this country is ready to make real changes. You just take all the Sentinels out of the system now, and there'd be chaos, and you know it. We can't stay here."

"Blair, I can't stay here; you can," Jim tried, in his most calming voice.

"Use that patronizing tone on me again, and you will be sleeping on the couch, cliché or no cliché," Blair threatened. "I'm as sick of this as you are, but if your dad's lawyer can get us some legal protections, I'll still come back here for my research… maybe. But let me tell you--right now, going somewhere else would be good. Man, there is way too much stupidity floating around this place."

"There is, isn't there?" Jim admitted.

"Oh man, totally. I look back on who I was a year or two ago, and I flinch. How can people who are so totally clueless be so totally convinced they know what they're doing? And now I can't change the rest of the world fast enough. I mean, come on." Blair demanded. Jim used his hand on Blair's back to push his lover into motion.

"Pretty damn clueless, Chief. You've seen that."

"Over and fucking over. I'm ready for a little less cluelessness."

"Don't count on it," Jim warned. "Just because the Netherlands has a better system doesn't mean they aren't stupid about something. I'm sure when we get there, you'll find some injustice to rail against."

"You're such a pessimist."

"Just a realist, Chief. One of us has to be."

"I am not that much of an idealist. I do live in the real world right next to you."

Jim reached over and ruffled Blair's hair until he darted away, his hands flying around his head in an attempt to defend himself.

"Geez, you're an army Ranger, aren't you supposed to have some sort of non-touchy-feely man rule?" Blair demanded as he smoothed his hair back down with his fingers.

"Nope," Jim smiled as he reached out and caught Blair's neck, pulling his companion back to his side. "But seriously, Chief, if this legal crap doesn't go our way and you still want to come home…"

Blair slipped a hand around Jim's waist. "Okay, you remember how we had that deal where you would bop me every time I said something stupid about my mom's friend Jim?" Blair asked. Jim gave him a gentle bop on the back of the head as an answer. Blair sank an elbow into his side, making Jim huff. "Well, we have a new rule. Every time you forget the following, I'm going to smack you. I want to be with you."

"Even if it means giving up your work?" Jim asked.

"Oh man, I am so not giving up my work. Utrecht University is a great chance to study a population of Sentinels under one of the most liberal systems in the world. We could see the Finnish system, maybe convince them to loosen up a little more. I might write some efficiency comparisons because I know Dr. Stoddard would gather data on Sentinels here. And if your dad can come up with a good enough lawyer, the big guys just might go down. That's the beauty of the court system; it can level some pretty big mountains. Hell, the courts jump started most of the civil rights we have today. Anyway, I am so not giving up my work for you. However," Blair added, "if it ever did come to choosing between work and you, you'd win."

"Sappy, Sandburg," Jim complained, but he couldn't stop a smile so wide that made his cheeks ache.

"Yeah, yeah, you love me anyway," Blair said confidently.

"I have to, no choice in the matter with the bond," Jim teased. "You, on the other hand, have fallen for me solely on the basis of my good looks and charm."

"Asshole."

"Dork."

"Nice, do you have any idea the etymology of that word?"

"Nope, but I know that if we don't hurry up and get to the airport, we're going to end up choosing between the flight to Tajikistan and the one to Laos."

"We're doing this."

"Yep."

"Funny, I always thought it would be you driving, me in the trunk, heading for Canada."

"I think first class might be a little more comfortable," Jim said as he looked at his companion. He still twitched at the idea of putting his Blair in a stuffy, dark trunk, and twitched even more at the idea that Blair had honestly thought him capable of that.

"Probably. So, it's back to the airport, right where we started this whole thing, huh?" Blair asked.

Jim didn't answer right away as he remembered that day in the airport when Blair had first appeared, lying through his teeth to the airport guard. "Yeah, back to where it all started, but this time, we're on the same side," Jim agreed as he tightened his arm around Blair.

Jim hurried his steps, and Blair matched him as they headed for the car and headed for a life that Jim couldn't have even imagined a year and a half ago when he'd huddled under a bridge and the best future he could imagine was living life with a Canadian tribe, alone and mourning the loss of Incacha for the rest of his life. Yeah, life hadn't been easy, but Jim was a soldier. He didn't expect easy. And the fact was that never in his dreams or fantasies had Jim ever expected life to be this good. He tightened his arm around Blair, and Blair's arm tightened around his waist in return.

 

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Ficlet

Control Issues Epilogue  
Rated ADULT  
"Letting Go"

 

"So, how is my hero tonight?" Blair asked with a smirk as he came through the back gate into their small garden terrace off the back of their place. The sun was just a sliver in the corner, while the rest of the terrace was in shadow, but Jim sat reading his paper anyway. Blair sometimes marveled at how easily he used his Sentinel senses now, after years of turning on the lights even when he didn't need to.

"Stuff it, Sandburg," Jim warned in his best cranky voice. Blair just smiled more.

"Not a good day? That Van Dijk case still giving you grief?"

Jim looked up from his newspaper, put his coffee down on the small mosaic table and pinned Blair with an evil glare. Blair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"The Van Dijk case is giving me grief because I can't investigate it. The whole point of a private investigator is to have the matter stay private. It's hard to be private with half the fucking city following me. One of the vultures actually fell in the Oudegracht trying to get a picture of me."

"Okay, ick. That's not the cleanest water in the world," Blair said as he let the garden gate latch and lock behind him before dropping his briefcase on the table and taking the chair across from Jim. "Did you fish him out?"

"He got himself in, he got himself out," Jim said darkly. "I'm not some caped crusader who rescues kittens from trees and idiot reporters from canals."

"No, you're just the guy who single-handedly took out a terrorist group who had taken hostages and shut down the Utrecht Zuilen station. I think that qualifies you for caped status, so would you prefer red or blue? A nice superman theme might look nice with those legs of yours." Blair gave his lover a wink and then grinned at the feral expression that might have sent lesser men running away while peeing their pants.

"Sandburg," Jim snarled. "I can't get my work done. Johan Van Dijk can't wait for the information he needs." Scrubbing a hand across his face, his anger suddenly turned to worry.

"Oh man, yeah. You're right," Blair agreed as he remembered the old man who had shown up on their door, which doubled as Jim's office for his very discreet detective agency, staff of two. Okay, staff of one and a half because the university kept Blair busy enough researching Sentinels and speaking at fundraisers and presenting research that he didn't get to work with Jim nearly as much as he would like to. He adored his research, and he could see the changes slowly seeping into society as more and more researchers turned their attention toward innate Sentinels, but he missed the adrenaline of police work. "I don't think you're getting rid of the paparazzi any time soon, not unless someone else takes on terrorists and saves a bunch of children single-handedly," Blair mused.

"I'm about ready to volunteer with a terrorist group to help them plan something just so someone else can play hero," Jim sighed.

"I hear you," Blair nodded. "Can I help?"

"If you have some time tomorrow, I could use some help on the Van Dijk case."

"Cool! What time to you need me?"

"When are you free?"

"Name the time, man, and I'm all yours." Blair held his arms out to indicate just how much of him belonged to Jim.

"Listen, Chief, I know you have meetings tomorrow, so I'd rather work around your schedule."

"Oh man, no problem. I do have a legal right to take time off for any Sentinel-related business, so meetings-schmeetings."

"Junior, I am not playing the Sentinel card," Jim almost growled. Blair blinked at the sudden anger, but then it wasn't like he didn't have a hang-up or two himself. Jim had certainly earned his right to be a little overly sensitive on this issue, even if he didn't have to wear a collar or sign all his money over to Blair. His driver's license still labeled him as a Sentinel and restricted him from driving during any police or government declared emergency, and he couldn't carry a weapon, not even when he held a private investigator's license.

"Jim," Blair said carefully, "this is so not about you. I want to use the Sentinel card because I have a meeting with Kees Rotmensen to talk about department budgets, and man, I just don't care. However much they give me, I'll spend, but this happy shit with politicking to get more just gives me indigestion."

"Chief, I'm not saving you from Rotmensen. I just need about three hours of your time tomorrow, so let me know when you're free."

"I suppose if I come home at four that will give Rotmensen an hour to torture me with budget numbers," Blair sighed. "You know, feel free to have those Blessed Protector instincts kick in here," he suggested. Jim just picked up his coffee and started drinking again, the paper still draped over his lap.

"When a gunman grabs you, I'll get right on it, but you're on your own with Rotmensen. The man gives me the creeps."

"Nice, he gives the special ops soldier the creeps, and you still throw me to him," Blair said with exaggerated resignation.

"Yep. You can take care of yourself, Chief."

"So, do you need help with your senses or do you want me to play decoy for your fan club?" Blair asked as he kicked off his shoes. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched out a leg and let his socked foot rub Jim's thigh. Jim's eyebrow went up, and the corners of his mouth twitched. A little more, and Blair'd get an honest smile out of him.

"I think Van Dijk's oldest is the one selling the company secrets. I planned on staking out Han's place, but he has white noise generators all over that mansion of his. I need this taken care of because I have a new client: a teenage girl disappeared during a summer trip. Her friends last saw her at Dom tower, and the police have told the parents that they've run out of leads."

"Oh yeah, it's time to take care of the Van Dijk case," Blair agreed. The industrial espionage case wasn't like most of Jim's cases, but the old man's pain had really bothered Jim, so he had taken the case. "So, we go and you listen right past those white noise generators of Junior's. Man, those things are like pointless with Jim Ellison, Sentinel extraordinaire on the job."

"Extraordinaire?" Jim sounded almost amused. Okay, there was more exasperation than amusement, but there was some amused in there.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but this is my fantasy here, so just go along with it," Blair suggested as he moved his foot to the inside of Jim's thigh, pressing closer to the growing bulge he could just imagine. The newspaper rattled as Blair's foot moved.

"Despite the fact that Eli has identified two innate Sentinels with senses just as powerful if not more powerful than mine?" Jim asked, his lips twitching again as Blair stretched as far as he could without falling out of his chair.

"Whatever," Blair dismissed them. "Man, they are not nearly as cool. I bet they never saved a whole train station full of hostages from terrorists. They don't have their own entourage."

"Let's not bring that up, please," Jim said dryly, and then Blair's toes reached home, and he made a little strangled gasp. Blair smiled.

"What the Sentinel wants, the Sentinel gets," Blair agreed.

"What about what Jim wants?" Jim asked, the amusement gone as something shifted just below his psychological landscape. Blair hesitated and then pulled his foot back so he could stand up.

"Oh man, I'd do anything for Jim," Blair said as he walked around to Jim's side and let his hand rest on Jim's shoulder. "What's up?"

"Nothing, Blair."

"I'm not buying it, Ellison."

"Just drop it." Jim stood up, dumped the paper on the table and headed into the bedroom through the double doors.

"Oh no," Blair said as he grabbed his briefcase and darted after his lover. "Don't shut me out, Jim. You know I get all insecure and weird when you shut me out."

Jim stopped near the tall dresser, his hand resting on the top as he stared at the wall.

"Oh man, who did what to you today?"

"It isn't that."

"Okay, so no one did anything to you. Who said what to you today?"

Blair watched Jim pick up an envelope from the dresser and tossed it at him. Blair dropped his briefcase as he caught the fluttering paper in both hands. Pulling the flap open with trembling hands, Blair tried not to think about all the things that could have gone wrong: his mother, Jim's father or brother, the Dutch citizenship process. When he finally got through the first paragraph, his heart started to slow down.

"Hey, we so knew this would happen," Blair said gently.

"You have now officially given up your life for me," Jim said, his voice tight and clipped.

"Hey, you officially gave up your life when the military figured out about your senses. Me? I just changed locations. I'm still researching Sentinels. I'm still getting my adrenaline fix, although not as much as I might want, but hey, I can always spend more time working with the agency if I want to. My life is nowhere near given up, man."

"You can't go home."

"I am home," Blair said as he dropped the nasty, but ultimately powerless, letter from the Sentinel Institute on the floor and stepped to Jim's side. They hadn't planned to go back to the states, and the Netherlands wouldn't extradite for contempt of a Sentinel court summons. "Man, I am going to go all sap and mush on you if you don't get that truth through your head, Ellison, and I'm not sure you're going to survive a full case of Sandburg sentimentality."

"I don't know, I survived your mother," Jim pointed out dryly.

Blair smiled, and Jim finally answered with a smile of his own. "Yeah, yeah, you saved her baby from being a cog in the machine," Blair nodded, "but that was Sandburg sap turned on 60%... maybe 70%. I'm threatening to give you both barrels of lovey-dovey mush about how you are my life, so don't make me go there."

"Blair, I shouldn't be your life. And by choosing me… that warrant takes away some pretty important choices."

"You are an important part of my life, but does it occur to you that I like the fact that when we work on cases, it's one at a time and not like when Simon would dump a dozen active cases on us at once? And then the university… oh man, it is so much better to be a respected professor than a teaching fellow. And you know I loved teaching, but really, focusing on research and writing and playing guest lecturer--I'm in fucking heaven. And I love this city. The homophobia and xenophobia and general lifeophobia in Cascade sometimes drove me totally nuts. So, don’t go playing the martyr, Ellison. I didn't give up much to be with you, and I got a thousand times more than I lost."

"Sandburg sap?" Jim asked, but at least now he asked with a smile.

"Hell, yeah. It's also truth." Blair reached up and rested a hand on Jim's chest, feeling the warmth from his partner and wondering what it would be like to be a Sentinel, to feel the blood throb and hear the heart beating and identify every fiber under your fingers. Blair could only feel the smooth cotton of Jim's shirt and study his partner's face for some sign that he'd cut off Jim's incipient attack of guilt.

"Utrecht has been good to us," Jim offered.

"Totally…. that café in Rotterdam."

" Kroket," Jim agreed, licking his lips as he mentioned the deep fried meat and bread treat that Blair still called a stick-shaped heart attack. Blair rolled his eyes.

"The National Library," he countered.

"Inspector Visser over in Apeldoorn."

"Wait, I'm happy for one of the best known collections of rare manuscripts in the world, and you're thankful for stick-up-his-ass Visser?"

"He's a good cop," Jim shrugged, but his smirk grew. "Besides, you just like the banned erotic section." It didn't take a Sentinel to know that Jim was now officially screwing with him.

"Asshole," Blair huffed as he started fingering the buttons on Jim's shirt, plucking them open one at a time, tugging when they didn't come open quite fast enough for him.

"Mevrouw van Wingerden over on Poortstraat street."

Blair stopped long enough to give Jim a curious look on that one. He shrugged. "She does great work with torn shirts and ripped buttons."

"Okay, those get ripped more from the chasing and jumping hedges and occasionally taking out armed terrorists than me," Blair complained, but he did slow down on the last button. Jim's shirt fell open, and Blair traced the strong muscles, letting his finger follow one valley to the center of Jim's chest where he then traced the line down the center of his chest to his pants.

"However things get ripped, I'm grateful to mevrouw van Wingerden," Jim whispered as he brought his hands up. He brushed Blair's hair back with one hand and loosened his tie with the other. "You look uncomfortable in your professor getup," Jim commented as he pulled the tie off.

"Oh, man, you have no idea," Blair answered as his cock throbbed in his pants, but from Jim's smirk, he just might know. Blair slipped his fingers into Jim's waistband, pressing until his fingertips just brushed the curled hair inside and then waiting as Jim unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down off his shoulders. Jim bent down and kissed Blair's shoulder, and Blair took the opportunity to open Jim's pants.

"Whoa, playing naughty, Jim?" Blair asked when a thick and heavy cock immediately appeared. "The commando going commando."

"Can the jokes, Junior. I didn't exactly have time for laundry this week."

"Oh yeah, you were busy being the big hero," Blair said as he pushed Jim's shirt off and started pulling Jim back toward the bed.

"Do you have to keep bringing that up?"

"Yep," Blair cheerfully agreed. "Jim Ellison—soldier, hero, son, lover, occasional asshole. I love every part of you."

"Blair," Jim said, and then he fell silent. Blair tilted his head back, inviting Jim to show how he felt since the big man was never going to enjoy words as much as Blair did. Immediately, Jim brought his mouth down over Blair's, kissing Blair until he couldn't do anything but ineffectually cling to Jim as every bit of blood disappeared south.

When Jim finally pulled back, he had a calmer expression, and Blair just about ripped the button off his own pants as he struggled out of them. With a knowing smirk, Jim pushed his pants off, leaving them on the floor as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Oh man." Blair stopped himself there. He didn't say how he had never still wanted someone so much two years into the relationship. He didn't say that he still needed Jim as much as he needed to breathe. He didn't say that the look of love in Jim's eyes still made him want to cry with joy. Being raised by a mother, Blair sometimes talked too much, but with Jim sitting naked on the blue bedspread, Blair decided that words just didn't explain enough.

Blair stood with his legs straddling Jim's knees as he bent down to kiss him. Jim leaned back, returning the kiss so enthusiastically that Blair's hands reached out for some support, landing on Jim's shoulders and then slowly pushing the other man to his back. Blair hummed into the kiss and then ended it only to place a series of kisses along Jim's shoulder.

Jim's cock was hard and thick, but Blair just ignored it as he caressed Jim's shoulders and hips and tweaked Jim's nipples and reverently kissed Jim's neck. Blair allowed himself to indulge in a feast of touching and tasting, hands and mouth skimming over skin that turned to gooseflesh under his lips.

"Chief," Jim sobbed the word. Blair took a deep breath and stopped before he made Jim come before even getting to the good part. Normally he would love to see Jim that out of control, but today he wanted something more. Today, he wanted to make Jim forget anything except how lucky they were to be here, to be happy, to have a home and a bed together. Blair used his hands on Jim's hips to urge him to turn, and Jim rolled and then crawled to the center of the bed. When he spread his legs, Blair hissed as he fought to find his own control.

"Problem?" Jim asked in his sarcastic voice.

"Go on, laugh it up, Ellison. If I come all over the bedspread, you're the one who's not getting any," Blair pointed out as he grabbed the lube from the side table.

Jim opened his mouth with some retort, but Blair slipped a finger inside and pressed hard against that small raised gland with the power to distract him. Jim gasped and his whole body shuddered as he lowered his head onto his forearms and started panting.

"Shit," Blair said softly. Jim's back rolled as the muscles tensed and surged under the skin. Adding a second finger, Blair moved to kneel between Jim's thighs. Now Jim rocked slowly forward and back in time with Blair's fingers. With his free hand, Blair stroked a rounded hip, resting his palm on the skin as he felt the muscles contract.

Hurrying now, Blair added a third finger, and Jim arched his back like a cat, the muscles standing out as he strained. He knew what Jim needed. Blair hurried a little more, spreading his fingers as Jim's body opened.

"Do it already," Jim hissed.

"Fucking backseat driver," Blair complained with a smile as he grabbed the lube and slicked it over his own erection. The feeling of his hand over his sensitive cock nearly made him come. He gritted his teeth and ordered himself to not come the second he was inside Jim. As a grown man, he shouldn't have this much trouble with control, but he did. Every damn time, he did.

Blair lined up and slid slowly forward. The head of his cock slid past the muscle before Jim thrust backwards, arching his back as he impaled himself on Blair's cock. Blair's hands landed on Jim's ass as he struggled to show a little restraint. Jim pulled slowly forward, rocking toward the head board, and now Blair took control of their coupling, driving forward with enough force to really make Jim feel it. Jim's head came up as his back arched.

"Yeah. Fuck yeah," Jim groaned and Blair started thrusting, gripping Jim's hips for leverage as he rammed in as hard as he could without hurting himself. Blair could feel it the moment Jim slid away from conscious thought and existed only in the moment. The muscles in his back contracted, making a landscape of perfection as Blair set a brutal pace. Blair's eyes watered from the pleasure and pain of needing to come, but he held off as Jim made small incoherent noises and fisted the bedspread.

With one hand braced on Jim's back, Blair reached under and grabbed Jim's neglected cock in his lube-smeared hand. Lost in some sort of sensory moment, Jim didn't move. He just breathed harder and his ass tightened around Blair's cock as Blair pumped it a few times. Then Jim started coming, and the strong, still body stretched and writhed, every muscle clenching until Blair cried out and started coming.

Jim bucked, forcing Blair still deeper and then he collapsed onto the bed. Blair collapsed on top of him, his long curls sliding across Jim's back and making him shiver. Still trying to catch his breath, Blair started squirming back.

"Shhh," Jim muttered, and Blair stilled. Jim's hand lay on the bed, his fingers stretched out, and Blair put his own hand over Jim's as he relaxed, allowing his shrinking cock to slowly pull from Jim's body without helping it.

"Love you," Jim said into the pillow.

"I love you too," Blair said as he kissed a strong shoulder. Laying on their bed in the fading light of day, Blair could honestly say that he loved Jim more than anyone else in his life. He finally slipped free, and Jim slowly stirred. Blair shifted to the side so Jim could roll to face him. The same hands that had killed Kincaid slowly stroked Blair's cheek.

"Feel better?" Blair checked. Jim had a pretty blissed out expression, but Blair had learned that appearances sometimes deceived.

"It got the job done," Jim said as he pursed his lips in amusement.

"Asshole," Blair huffed before Jim pulled him into a one-armed hug.

"That's what you get for fishing for compliments on your mind-blowing sexual skills," Jim pointed out.

"Whatever, man." Blair let his arm rest against Jim's waist as he dozed in the arms of his Sentinel.


End file.
